


Sculptor

by Ilovehighhats



Series: Constellations [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gardens & Gardening, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovehighhats/pseuds/Ilovehighhats
Summary: Or shaping the future one day at a time.In which a seed is planted and it takes root.





	1. The Seed

**Author's Note:**

> So, I can't keep away. Yeah, you might have noticed.  
> My idea with this series is one installment per month, no matter if pre or post Gotham.  
> "Scutum" was spanning March 15th through to March 18th; this one starts where we left off. It's still April, so it counts, right? :D  
> Well, here it is, I hope you enjoy.  
> R&R!

Bane returned to the living room right after disposing of Helena. He slipped on a shirt, tossed carelessly on the floor minutes before, and wordlessly helped Grace transfer pot of tea and cups to the coffee table. She found some cookies and arranged them neatly on a plate.

“You don't look like a scientist,” she noted, taking a seat on the other sofa and helping herself to a biscuit.

Bane poured the tea, indicating with his hands and eyes the usual questions, whether to add milk or sugar, and handed the woman her drink.  

“Are you really an astrophysicist?” she continued, after nodding her thanks and taking a sip.

“Yes,” he grunted. Muscles in his back were still unusually tensed, sore around his lower vertebrae. He’d have to check what that was  about. For now he focused on schooling his expression in polite disinterest, and took a swig of his drink. Mmm, earl grey. Soothing.

“Do you have any publications under your name?” Grace continued to drill.

He smiled, knowing exactly where she was going.

“Of course.”

“Did you write them yourself?”

“Yes. They have been reviewed by multiple peers.”

“You have a lot of scars for a scholar.”

“Do they bother you?”

“How did you get those burns?”

“I was in Gotham.”

“You have a knack for answering questions without parting with any valuable information.”

“Perhaps.”

“Tell me, Anthony, what kind of scientist has motion detectors in double perimeter around his house?”

“A careful one. What kind of old lady knows how to disable them?”

“A nosy one.” She smiled, smug.

Bane sipped his tea.

“I'll keep my eye on you.”

He shrugged and looked to the side - Helena gathered herself enough to come to them. His eyes softened when they met her worried gaze. He knew he would be watched, scrutinized and tracked down, and all of that by people more dangerous than a retiree. He could live with whatever investigation Grace had coming. As long as Helena would be close, he would be fine. Even if close for now meant at the other side of the table, sitting on a rug of all places, like she needed to have both of them under her watchful gaze.

“So, Grace, what the fuck?” the younger woman asked, sliding the last empty cup to herself and dismissing Bane’s help with a wave of her palm. She poured the tea, frowning, splashing hot liquid on the saucer.

“Language, darling.”

She chuffed at the chastisement and shook her head. Two cubes of sugar splashed into the cup, and she stirred angrily.

Bane thought she looked cute when irritated. It wasn’t the cold rage he was used to, nor the distant resentment he remembered. She was irked but calm. Interesting.

“Don't you language me, what was that about?”

“I was worried about you.”

“Uh huh. You might have noticed somewhere in past few years that I actually live next door. Perhaps during the time you used to live in this very cottage?“ The ‘used to’ part was stressed, with semi-threatening lean on the table towards the woman to heighten the effect.

“Darling, I was playing bridge-” Grace started, the blasé tone way different than the quick and sharp one she used to ask Bane her questions earlier.

He wondered what her agenda was . And why it seemed like he’d have to peel some layers to get to the bottom of it.

Helena groaned painfully, thumped her forehead on the table. Bane barely had time to move up and away his cup to avoid spillage.

“Are  there no more physicians who respect patient confidentiality?“ The scribe moaned, shoulders slumping for a bit.

“Sven asked me how you brave your cold. Imagine my surprise.” To anyone else Grace looked like personification of sage aunt, careful about her little niece and mindful of her image. Bane noticed the studied way in which she arched her brow, a touch of distaste in her tone. Yup, like that fairy godmother from ‘Sleeping Beauty’. The red one. What was her name?

Helena raised her head to rest it on her palm, elbow propped up on the table. Inelegant, but cute. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I imagine you left poor Graham with the dishes as soon as everyone left and trotted here asap.”

Grace had the decency to blush.

“I knew it.” Satisfied scoff was accompanied by a triumphant glare as Helena straightened back to take a swig of her drink.

“I just put two and two together. You let me know that Dorrance is here. Then fall silent for a week and I learned from Anna some man drove you around town. And now Sven says you were unwell. Of course I was worried.”

“Of course,” Bane echoed, sipping another gulp.

They both turned to him, glaring. Maybe he overdid it this time with the mocking.

“Okay, so I’m fine and I’m sure you saw that before you decided to interrupt our little tete-a-tete. Why come in for a chat?”

Bane grinned. That was the woman he knew and remembered. Even when faced with a situation potentially dangerous, or as it was now embarrassing, she never stopped analyzing its components. Why, who, when?

Refreshing his drink, and Grace’s, he eagerly waited for the following explanation.

“Don’t pull the wool over my eyes, missy. All this years you pretended to be just friends, and now this?” She waved her hand towards Bane. “Your generation is certainly generous with affection, I can tell you that.”

He bit his cheek not to laugh. Good tactic, deflecting the attack with a blow of her own.

“We were just friends,” Helena grumbled.

“And now we’re friends with benefits,” Bane added. “The modern way to do things.” His eyes sent a clear message. He was sure the woman got it when she pressed her lips tightly together in reaction.

“Yes, you’re very modern,” Grace snorted. “Do you hide tattoos in there, along with all those scars? Writing your thesis with help of some weed?”

“None of your concern,” he stated blandly.

“Grace, please.” Outrage clear on her face as well as in her tone Helena frowned again. “That is quite enough.”

“Yes, darling, it is. I can see I’m not welcome here.” Her chin raised in a dignified pose. She placed the saucer back on the table, cup clinking softly, and stood up royally.

Both Bane and Helena followed.

“I will be the bigger person though and still do what I intended to when I came by,” she continued. “You are both very welcome at Graham’s and mine table for Easter.”

“Thanks,” Helena nodded, biting her lip.

Bane had a feeling Grace knew it wasn’t a happy offer for him. Difficult to refuse, seeing how the scribe was obviously intended to take it.

“Goodbye then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She left with a satisfied smirk.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t Flora, the red fairy. Maleficent suited her better.

As soon as her back cleared the corner, Helena chuckled.

“I know she’s weird, but she’s a good soul,” she explained.

“She doesn’t strike me as the friendliest of types,” Bane noted.

He collected the dishes, and Helena took what he didn’t manage to grab, followed him to the kitchen.

“Grace is nice, but you’re right. She can be a bit idealistic in her views so when the reality doesn’t fit, she bristles. Her husband is the soul of a party, and he’s the one who gathers local bigwigs for their bridge and other playdates.”

“You’ve ever been?” he asked, loading the dishwasher.

“Sure, once or twice. Too many people, I prefer visiting when there's only the two of them, or three more friends at most. Sunday roast sit-downs, mostly.”

“Hmm,” he grunted, swiping a dishcloth over the counter.

Helena looked back to the coffee table, checking if everything was in order. The memory of kiss on the sofa warmed her cheeks. That was more than nice. Feeling Bane between her legs was better than anything she experienced in the  past few months, and he didn’t really have a chance to actually get to work. He had full reign of his body now, so they could finally have proper, dirty, sweaty and sticky sex in the light of day, with full use of every orifice they wanted to abuse.

She nearly moaned at the thought.

It was so foolish though, to entice him when she knew he was far from okay.

Best thing to do would be ensuring he was stable, as soon as humanly possible. Which she hoped would be a record time since Bane excelled seemingly at everything he touched. Why would recovery  be any different?

“Would you like to set up Lully?” She offered, turning with her hands resting comfortably on her hips. Open enough, but confident instead of meek.

“Of course.” Bane leered.

That would bring Helena to his bedroom. She was aware of his train of thought.

“Don’t get any ideas. You go do it yourself. I’m going back to mine to see if the cottage still stands. I shall return in the evening,” she professed playfully, but steadily.

A clear message. Don’t follow, find something to do. I won’t leave for long.

“I’ll make some dinner,” he offered gruffly.

She was surprised, but easily smiled after initial pause.

“Great. Looking forward to it.”

 

oOo

 

Helena woke up to the sound of a gardening show, soothing voice of Monty Don instructing what to do when carrot fly attacks. Fearsome prospect that it was, she calmly drew in a deep breath and straightened a bit on the sofa. Bane was at her side, looking lost in thought, cradling her to his chest. She let herself cuddle back closer than before, and wallowed in the heat and scent of him.

Dinner was lavish and plentiful, and she drank a bit too much wine. That was the only reason she let Bane get this close. Maybe also the fact he agreed to watch some shows she liked. All was right in the world, nothing pressing to do, nothing important to address. She looked at the screen idly as stills of summer garden flicked on and off.

“You want to go back to your room for the night?”

She sighed into his flank, reluctantly shifting and straightening.

“I should, yeah,” she said, the last word distorted with a yawn.

“I’ll call in James to escort you.”

In a blink she was wide awake. Trying to hide her alarm she didn’t move, observed him in the window. The reflection was blurry but his broad frame easily discernible illuminated by faint glow of the computer.

“Okay,” she said tentatively, waiting for his next move.

Bane stood up, grunting as his spine complained, leaning palms on his thighs. He went to the glass door and stilled.

“James is not here, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know where he is,” Helena confirmed, unsure what Bane meant by ‘here’ exactly.

She frowned, concerned, and watched as his back tensed.

“I thought we were back in Gotham,” he admitted.

“Where are we now?”

“Home.”

Finally she decided to stand up and scale the gap between them. The fireplace was as dark as the rest of the room, but coals radiated warmth still. She shivered as she left the comfort of nearby sofa to stand by the cold glass alongside Bane. Carefully, she slithered her hand in his palm. A non-threatening, reassuring gesture. He squeezed back gently without a word. Helena still wasn’t certain he was with her, but she didn’t dare pressing him further. Since she wasn’t with him during the siege he might have thought she was Talia. Or some other woman. Finding that out wasn’t on top of her priority list right now.

“We should go to sleep,” he said, a dejected tone in his whisper.

Helena realized he avoided rest for the past two days. Since his episode with the knife.

“You want to take a shower first?”

“Not really,” he countered, shaking his head. “You won’t sleep with me?”

“Not this time. But I can sit by until you fall asleep,” she proposed.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Helena,” he sneered.

Relief made her smile sheepishly. Anger she could work with. It was the mute, low-spirited Bane she didn’t know what to do about.

“I’m not. I can assure you I will be portraying you naked under those sheets. Wouldn’t do that to a kid,” she teased.

He chuckled lowly, appreciating her effort at lightening the mood.

“You had me fooled with your past flings.” He winked. “And I thought you remembered I prefer to sleep nude.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

They walked down the corridor together, silencing Monty Don’s rant about tomatoes on their way with Bane thudding the laptop shut. Helena stopped just before his door, and let herself be pulled close in a tight hug.

“See you in the morning,” she mumbled in Bane’s shoulder, fighting with herself to disengage and move back.

He stopped her, strong arms keeping her close. Not insistently, but firmly enough to counteract her motion. Soft kiss on her temple had her melting back into him, huffing a soft moan. She didn’t have enough courage to vocalize everything she felt. Wasn’t cruel enough to tell him she loved him, then go away to sleep in the other room. But the understanding between them grew, both of them reluctant to part.

In the end Bane's chest heaved with last intake of breath, making her smile as she heard him sniffing her hair, and he sighed.

“Goodnight, Helena.”

 

oOo

 

She heard him toss and turn, rustle of sheets and muted creaks of bedframe as telling as his frustrated grunts. He didn’t sleep, and she was trying to wait him out, but it was harder and harder as minutes trickled by, the hum of gale comforting despite anxiousness simmering in her gut. To stay awake read every piece of news on the sites she frequented, found a romance novel online, and even tried browsing for some movies. None of that held her interest for longer than half an hour.

She tried to recount the instances she could be sure he slept, from the day he came, up until now. The calculation was disturbing. On the first night, right after their talk, he probably caught couple of hours at best, since he read through all those messages she sent to Tony. To him. Then two nights she couldn’t be sure about. Then the one where she was here, the one with the knife. He slept, but she was sure he didn’t get much rest. Then on Sunday he had a proper deep sleep, she spent most of the night listening in on him, much as she did now, so she was sure. On Tuesday morning she remembered him miraculously tidying up all books in the living area - he must have started deep into the night. Wednesday and Thursday she slept deeply so didn’t have a clue, but Friday she was sure he didn’t rest at all because he made bread. The wonderful smell actually woke her up much to her surprise and delight; it meant not only a delicious breakfast waiting for her, but also that her sinuses were finally clear. Saturday again unsure, but since that was the day Grace came, Bane was agitated for the rest of the night. And finally yesterday, when she was positive he stayed up with his research. All in all, she was certain he didn’t sleep for half of the nights she counted, and was uncertain about the rest but one, so that didn’t help to settle her mind at ease.

He must have been exhausted, and she kept rejecting him, challenging him every step of the way, making him prove he wanted to be here, with her.

Realizing she had essentially been a bitch to him, she reached out for her phone and quickly checked a fact she half remembered. Thanks to the internet she had her confirmation in mere minutes.

With a decisive huff she got up to dress. The noise she made was deliberate. In a quiet minute when she sat down to shake sleep off and calm herself, her ears strained to catch any sounds coming from Bane’s bedroom. Nothing. She smirked. So he listened to her as well.

Making a show of waving a hand through the gap in ajar door she alerted him to her presence outside.

“I’m up,” he said.

She opened the door but stood on the threshold, holding the handle. Partly to do something with her hands, partly to stop herself from going to him and snuggling close.

“Gathered as much.” She gulped, losing her thread of thought. He was bare chested, thin sheet low on his hips, sprawled comfortably in the middle of white linens, propped up a bit on the headboard. Smug smirk twisted his lips.

Those lips. She kissed them not two days ago.

“You were saying?”

“Oh, right,” she murmured. “I’m going to my cottage.”

His smile vanished.

“Can’t stand listening to your tossing, and I have a nice herbal tea back there. Would you like to tag along?”

He nodded and she wasted no time in turning away and walking slowly to the living room, lest she saw too much and wouldn’t be able to leave at all.

Bane didn’t keep her waiting long, and they set into the night, dark, cold and damp, walking in companionable silence down a rocky path.

“New Moon coming or going?” she asked, opening her door.

“Coming. Should be next week.”

Wooden steps muffled sound of their boots when they descended to the kitchen area.

“What are you working on when you think I don’t look?”

“My memoirs.”

Helena chuckled, looking for the box with tea, while Bane put on the kettle. She chucked the bags into mugs and stood by, hip propped on the counter, waiting.

Bane leaned his hands on the wood beside her, bending his head and stretching his spine.

“I’d like you to get that looked at,” she said.

“Would you come with me?”

She thought about it. Was it really to his advantage if she coddled him every step of the way? Should she accommodate his wishes, or was it better to make him deal with everything on his own?

Before she realized the silence stretched for too long.

“Never mind,” he huffed, straightening back up.

The kettle whistled, and he turned the heat off and poured the water.

“What’s in that tea?”

“Lemon balm, chamomile, hops, mint, passiflora and lemongrass,” she read.

“Comprehensive blend,” he noted.

Steam billowed under cold clinical light, the mugs a deep indigo, framed at the top with burnt sienna corresponding to the oak of the tabletop. Helena watched them for a while, aware that she was observed in turn.

“Let's make a fire, hmm?”

Bane nodded and started up to get to the back terrace and the fire pit, leaving her to gather both mugs and then collect some blankets and pillows to make a comfortable nest by the fire. By the time she was done with her task, Bane has completed his. He made last corrections to a neat bonfire raised up on rusted planes of steel, then turned to sit on a chair, cushioned and covered. Let Helena fuss over him, tucking warm wool wherever she saw fit, before she handed him his mug.

“Thank you,” he said, looking in the flames.

Last time he spent a night like this he was on a beach with Talia, watching summer spectacle of a meteor shower unfold over their heads.

“You're very welcome,” the scribe said, smiling pleasantly over her tea.

“For bringing me out of there,” he clarified. “I appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate everything you’re trying to do,” he admitted looking her straight in the eye.

“I’m sorry I’ve been unpleasant.”

Bane shook his head, but she silenced him with a frown.

“No, really. I want to be with you. It’s just… You keep telling me to come to you. You have to give me room to make at least one step then.” She reasoned. “I don’t want you anymore hurt than you are. And that will happen if you have another fit while sleeping, if I’ll be in bed with you and you’ll see me as some ghost from your past.”

Her words were merciless, but she knew he could see what was the reason for them. No matter what he was before, she was with him now.

“So, no sex until I’m healed?” He was bad at hiding his disappointment.

“No sleeping together,” she corrected. It would be too harsh to shut that door completely. On both of them. Especially with the way he perked up. “But for now, I’d like you to settle and find a comfortable schedule, without a disruption some good, um, exercise would bring.”

He hummed, mulling over her words.

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Also, I’ve noticed that if an episode happens it’s around one or two in the morning. We could program Lully and give it a week to see if it helps. But you need a regular sleeping pattern for that to work.”

“Mhm.”

They finished tea and kept staring at the flames, Bane occasionally getting up to feed them.

Helena fought to keep her eyes open.

At one point she dozed off. Cold wind sneaked under blanket, the fabric slipping out of her fingers when she slouched in her chair. Her head fell back too far and she startled, aware that she was being carried, but too cozy to really do anything. Bane was murmuring something softly, shifting her in his arms. She focused on the cadence of his voice, deep rumble going through his chest and the warmth surrounding her.


	2. The Weed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or shaping the future one day at a time.  
> In which the sapling turns out to be something different than what was planted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a bit down. Tell me if you enjoyed?

Bane sighed, releasing a thick cloud of vapour, feeling the tension escape him further along with air leaving his lungs.

Aware that the ritual was as important to him as the drug, he took care now to find half an hour both before and after sleep. Helena welcomed the brackets he imposed on their activities, easily swallowing his explanation. Meditation. Wasn’t a lie, not technically, since he did that, too. Only, after a session he took out a small vaporizer and a vial of green oil he got from Dr Isley and imbibed. THC did work on him, to his quiet astonishment. Not wonders, even though the essence was from some novelty variety crossbred by the botanist; nothing could compare with the instant thunderous impact of Venom. Nevertheless it helped him chill and dulled some of his aches to a point he believed he behaved like a normal guy. Regular Frank, not looking over his shoulder at every louder sound, not jumping at unfamiliar shadows, not lashing out at strangers visiting his property uninvited.

He thought he could live without it, without the scheduled regularity, but then the episode with the knife happened. So he kept on taking two, sometimes three doses every day.

Helena’s suggestion that he should start smoking marijuana delighted him. His prim and proper scribe ready to break the rules for him. Only for him. Always, for him.

With each passing day he was more and more besotted with her.

To his dismay, it didn’t help settle him in his sleep. And she saw him that night when reality shifted, the fabric of time overlapping so that he was at the same time back in the condo in Gotham, with Talia sullenly complaining about Wayne, and yet aware that the body beside him was Helena’s, so his mind made a connection telling him he must have been at the Armenian compound. She surprised him again that night, twice. First with how calm she reacted, letting him gently fall away from the mirage his mind conjured. And then later, when she took him out and away from fruitless and frustrating tossing and turning on the bed. Once again she was attuned to him, fitting in his cracks and crevices, filling out inadequacies, tempering sharp points and overeager tendencies. With a start he realized she led him and he followed gladly, a revelation at once baffling and oddly satisfying. Maybe leading wasn’t the best word, he thought smirking and inhaling deep the vapour, guiding seemed much more suitable. Helena herself insisted on them walking side by side, even if she was the one who set the destination. He still had ample opportunity to discuss the path, chart the course together and pick the tempo; if he wanted. She was his compass and at the same time the azymuth he followed. Ultimately it boiled down to the fact he wanted to be wherever she was, whether on the move or rooted to the ground.

 

oOo

 

Much like back at the monastery they quickly developed a comfortable routine. Both slept in their respective beds, but the days were spent intermittently together, either on mornings or evenings. Sometimes Helena would sleep over at Bane’s.

She still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his real name.

Schedule cemented after a week, the first signs of true comfort began seeping into their interactions. A tender kiss on the neck. Cuddling on the sofa. Soft palm running over shoulders in passing. Warm smiles from over a book, or a plate, or when Bane pummelled Helena’s King on the chessboard, yet again winning the round in three moves.

All of this was very well. But the device she bought for him didn’t do its job. Bane still had nightmares. Sometimes he’d tell her himself, sometimes she saw that in the way he rubbed his jaw or stretched his neck.

She worried.

Getting him to use Lully was more to see if he’d be receptive to her help, but there was hope at the back of her head that it would be enough. Silly thought. He needed therapy.

On top of all that he never mentioned if he had hallucinations again. Asking would be too much on Helena’s nerves, so she settled on letting him deal with that on his own. For now. Until she’d be less scared of who he saw her as.

Now she was facing another gruesome task, namely preparing him for another type of trauma. Easter brunch loomed a bit over a week away. She knew some other people would attend and Bane agreed to go, much to her amazement. Gathering intel, he said. Didn’t want to specify on what.

Again, she worried.

Exercise seemed to be the best medicine, so she decided it was high time to roll up her sleeves, literally, and get to work on a vegetable patch and herb garden she wanted to plant.

What she forgot to take into consideration was the fact that the soil she tried to turn was hardly moved in last fifty years. It was nearly as hard and dense as the rocks around. She worked up a nice sweat and her lungs burned with the exertion, and what she had to show for it? A tiny tiny square of ground, filled with rocks, sandy underneath and dry overall.

Maybe she should just keep her plants in pots? That would give her cottage a Mediterranean look. Could be nice.

She stood by her terrace, hands propped up on the shovel, looking down miserably, contemplating her options.

That’s how Bane saw her.

“Your turn to make dinner tonight,” he said as a greeting.

Shit, she forgot.

“Shit, I forgot,” she admitted. “I’m battling the elements in hope of cultivating this godforsaken land, but as you can see it's all a rather pitiful attempt at trying to tame nature.”

He chuckled and took the shovel, exchanging it for a teacloth bundle he brought along.

“What’s that?”

“Bread.” He looked around. “How far you want to go with your renovation?”

“Up to that damson tree, and like this.” She stepped through the grass to show him the shape she wanted to achieve and how far it stretched. “Just turn the soil over, I’ll have to work in fertilizer anyway, so it doesn't have to be very deep.”

“Aren't you supposed to do that before April?”

“I had other concerns in early spring.”

“Right. Off you go,” he shooed her away.

She pecked his cheek quickly before she went, humming even before she crossed the threshold.

They went grocery shopping the day before, so she decided what to cook as she trotted down the stairs. The bread Bane made was a luscious, crusty loaf, very rustic. She decided it would be best to offset it with a nice stew, creamy and warm. The perfect hearty meal after some honest work.

Fond smile crept up on her lips as she cut chicken thighs, then carrots, broccoli, potatoes and onions. From time to time she looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Bane in the skylight. When she sautéed meat with onions in the crockpot in heaping helping of butter, he leaned his head down over the window.

“It smells delicious,” he mouthed through the glass.

Helena giggled and beamed up at him.

Soon she was adding vegetables and some broth from her freezer. At the top she carefully placed some fresh bay leaves, snipped right off the plant that was standing on the counter. Just like Julia Child. The downtime she had before making roux was perfect opportunity to pick parsley leaves off the stalk and set the table.

Bane came down when she was stirring the stew, smell of nutmeg sharp in the air.

“Are your hands clean?” she asked, turning to look at him.

They weren't, and the rest of him was just as filthy. He took off his outer wear and must have worked only in jeans and long sleeve henley, perspiration clearly visible along with streaks of mud and some green stains.

“Still like me sweaty and dirty?” he teased.

Helena turned off the stove without looking.

“Oh I don’t know, you're not covered in blood and gunpowder,” she said, dared him further with a tantalizing sucking on her lower lip. “I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Glued to the spot he nevertheless excluded an air of confidence. She couldn't resist him like this, chest puffed out, hands fisted at his sides, shoulders tightly pulled back. He watched her like a hawk when she neared him carefully, one step after another.

She stopped just outside his reach, marvelling at the way quickened breath escaped his nose in short angry puffs.

“Do it. Take the last step,” he tempted, deep voice husky with need.

This was a bad idea.

Her eyes measured him one last time, from feet to the top of his head.

This was a very bad idea.

Her mouth touched his neck first. Barely a second after, he gripped her hips and her hands found his flanks. A hiss escaped Bane’s mouth, pained and short, when he felt her tongue track a slick trail up to his ear. Reflexively his fingers dug into soft flesh beneath, thumbs hooking at hipbones, easy to find under thin skin. He rocked towards her, once then twice, and rubbed cheek scratchy with stubble on her delicate one. Blindly he found her lips, parted in welcome, eager to taste more of him.

Helena watched him keenly, finally able to see his face with a satisfied, blissful smile. He was beautiful. The scars marring his jaw were like a relief, an organic pattern designed to bring out perfect symmetry of subject underneath. Mutely telling stories of cruelty, bravery and survival.

Their lips met again in a gentle stroke, teasing the nerve endings with back and forth touch that was far from enough.

He threaded fingers through her hair, freeing them from the elastic, individual strands catching lightly on callouses of his hand.

“Tell me you want this,” Bane whispered, stormy eyes insistent. He wouldn’t trespass again, he’d wait just as she asked of him.

Helena smiled, stroking warm palms up his stomach, feeling the damage underneath. Her face shifted, happiness giving way to regret.

“I could have lost you.” She pressed closer, slithering her arms around his broad back. “I never want to be parted with you again.“ And then she looked up once more, meeting his eyes with the same intensity he had, equally burning desire simmering under her skin. “I want you.”

The last step she had to take.

“You're never getting rid of me,” Bane warned, crowding her back, pushing with slightly shaky hands in her hips. “You're mine and no one will touch you but me. Understand?“

“Yes,” she moaned it out because he was already kissing her neck, wet and sloppy, at the same time raising her on the table.

“I always wanted to fuck you on a desk. A kitchen table will do, too,” he hissed in her ear, pulling away to yank her jeans open.

Someone knocked on the skylight.

Their hands stilled and Bane growled, a primal, vibrating sound, the epitome of male displeasure.

“Do you expect anyone?”

“No,” Helena said, jumping off the table, righting her clothes with knitted brows. “I’ll see who that is.”

An unfamiliar silhouette loomed beyond the door, slowing Helena’s steps with uncertainty. Whoever the intruder was knew she would be getting out from the underground level, and pass the balcony door. Which was closest to the skylight. Which in turn, told her volumes about the fact that, intentional or not, they wanted her intimidated.

No such luck.

She opened the door and greeted the guest.

“Mr Brown.”

“Ms Wolf,” he said with a pleasant smile. “May I?” He gestured vaguely towards interior of the house.

“No.”

The level answer surprised him.

“I said I will be back to discuss Bane,” he reminded.

“You did. And I remember distinctly never agreeing on that. Instead I asked you to leave your contact info, so I could notice you if anything as unlikely as Bane calling me would happen.”

“We can do it the hard way,” he warned.

“Let’s. I’m quite sure it we be greater difficulty for you. Stop harassing me.”

The agent’s jaw tensed visibly.

“Who are you protecting?”

“Myself. My peace of mind. Didn’t you get all you wanted when I was interrogated back a few years ago? What would it help you now to make me relive all that had happened again?”

“I’m sure you omitted some vital information back then,” he replied angrily.

Something in wording of that statement caught Helena's interest.

“Really? Tell me, what exactly you think I was unclear about?”

“I would like to conduct this conversation indoors.” The evasion was blatant and insulting.

“You haven’t seen it.” She exclaimed gleefully. “You come here and pester me, because your little government agencies are too incompetent to work together. And you’re grasping at straws.” Her smile turned vicious. “Do you realize that what Bane did to me back then was not the end? Oh, he didn’t contact me over the years, no. But last year, someone very close to me was in Gotham. Someone whom I care about very much. And you come here now, as your colleagues from CIA came before you, and accuse me of withholding vital information from the time I was kept imprisoned. And you had your bad guy trapped and did nothing,” her voice shook with the pent up aggression, “nothing at all to stop him then. When you knew exactly where he was. And I almost lost everything dear to me again. So, Mr Brown, don’t come here anymore. I’m quite certain if you’d try to tackle this issue in, as you described, ‘the difficult way’,” she air quoted, giving way to all the frustration she held at bay before, “the amount of paperwork required for you to interrogate me lawfully would make you sit back and realize how pathetic this attempt is. I’m well aware what you are doing now is illegal.” She mocked him openly now, high on adrenaline. “Oh yes, I know you should be accompanied at least by Norwegian authority. And since I’m not a citizen? Boy howdy, how long does it take to get all papers through an embassy, yeah? You’ve fucked up. I never had anything to say to you, but now I will spite every other US agency that comes here as well, simply because you people never stopped to respect me enough to talk with me openly.” She paused for just two seconds before sneering the final ‘goodbye’, closing the door.

Bane was waiting for her on the stairs to the kitchen, out of sight. She squished beside him on narrow steps, and he hauled her to his lap, hugged her close.

“You were fierce,” he noted.

“The nerve of those people,” she hissed, “Treating every other country as their backyard. And right after they had a crisis developing over months, on their own turf, and didn’t do shit about it. Pisses me off.”

“Indeed?” The usual mockery was toned down, a false note hidden beneath the usual amusement.

“I think I finally tapped into those feelings for Dorrance, the residue that was left after all the time I worried about him as much as I dreaded what would happen with Bane the Terrorist. Now I think about them both at the same time, and both sides mix and intertwine. It’s so difficult to have the same person as both the victim and the oppressor.”

She sighed and cuddled more comfortably into Bane’s comfortable frame. She was warm, and content. Would it be wrong to stay like this until the end of days?

“We should leave,” he murmured into her hair, rubbing his lips on soft tresses.

“I don’t want to leave,” she complained. “I have dinner on the stove.”

Slow chuckle rumbled beneath her ear pressed to Bane’s neck.

 

oOo

 

Over the years living in the coast Helena grew to like silence. It was never the ringing in her ears from the absolute muteness around, but instead the calming white noise of nature. Rustle of leaves as branches moved under strong gusts of wind. Creaking of wood. Murmur of grass blades rubbing together, moving as if stroked with an invisible giant hand. Always there were some man-made noises adding to the experience, grounding her in the present. Blips of email notifications. Rustle of sheets, as her current envoy turned unhurriedly every other minute. Clacking of laptop keys. Whisper of paper, as pages of a book were turned almost silently. Or, as it was now, low murmur of a one-sided conversation, as Bane sat with laptop on his thighs and a headpiece on, engrossed in a discussion with one of his colleagues.

The chuckle was uncharacteristic, goofy and puffing in short bursts. Helena looked up from her novel surprised. She smiled, astonished with Bane’s carefree reaction. It was nothing out of the ordinary really, a man enjoying talk with a friend, but it didn't suit the image of this particular man. The fearsome killer snickering over some nerdy joke?

She sobered, catching the thought like an annoying fat fly, bringing it closer for detailed inspection, an analysis of its roots.

That had to be the heart of her inability to fully accept his return. She still thought of Bane the mercenary whenever she saw him. Tony the scientist was there if she read emails or talked over the phone. When in fact he was neither. Or rather both. Or someone in between the two, in the middle of the spectrum.

Her golden mean. Happy medium. Meden agan.

Tiredly she rubbed her cheeks with both hands, shifting on the sofa. Back at the monastery Bane was just himself to her. Both her ruthless kidnapper and avid listener. She knew some of his terrorist profile and saw only part of his scientific research. And still she was able to maintain a relationship, to want it, at least to some point.

Now she finally had the whole picture.

He wasn’t any different to how she remembered him to be. If anything, now he was more inclined to stay and live with her, a fact she knew but didn’t stop to wonder about until now. Regardless of the failure that was Gotham, he sacrificed a lot to come to her. What was to gain? For her a companion, and a friend that’s for sure. Another chance at seeing if she could build a lasting relationship, without the excuse of the partner being inadequate. Bane was her ideal, both thanks to his nature and merit, and not in small amount thanks to her own idealization of him.

But what made him decide, and prepare for, spending his days out in Norwegian province, away from everything his life up to this point has been? Was it the calm stability? The sleepy quality of every day being free to do everything or nothing at all?

He turned to her, broad smile stretching his lips and shrinking some of the scars.

Did it really matter why he was here?

Helena put away her book and slid her palm on his shoulders as she went past to the kitchen, taking the opportunity to leave a small kiss on his temple. She’d make some tea and then when he would be done they’d eat dinner and discuss what herbs to plant and what to bring to Grace and Graham’s Easter brunch.

After dinner Bane lounged in a chair, pensive, tapping slightly the forefinger of left hand on his lips. Steaming cup of tea sat forgotten on the table and his left foot dangled perilously close to it, balanced on his knee. It amused Helena for the first minute or so, watching him so engrossed in his own musings. He murmured something vaguely scientific at her soft inquiry, quantity of dark matter in young galaxies, which told her nothing but the fact that he was theorizing and wouldn't pay her any attention in the foreseeable future. Unless she were to become a young galaxy herself.

Smiling slightly at the prospect of becoming an example of a Greek myth, like Europa abducted by powerful and jealous being enamoured with her beauty, she settled back to read. It wasn't that far off from what actually happened but she wasn't young anymore. Neither of them were.

Rows of letters filled her vision like bars. They formed words, but she couldn’t focus on the text, aware that her prolonged observation resulted in usual and predictable side effect.

Even older, battered and scarred, Bane still was an alluring and enticing specimen. Forearms were thick with muscles cording under tanned skin even in their current relaxed state. T-shirt hugged his chest softly, hanging loosely over taut, strong stomach. He was formidable, the raw power visible even at a glance. Yet his biggest asset was his brain, the immense vastness of information he stored, calculations and possibilities thought over in a blink of an eye, the inexplicable creative surge that made him this much more unexpected and therefore - dangerous. Helena realized he was most threatening when he was like this, folded comfortably in quiet contemplation. Passive. All his ruinous intentions held at bay, unknown and malignant in the way that built dread if only one realized what might be coming.

Or, she corrected herself, since he wasn't a menace anymore this was the most promising sign. Bane developing ideas, straightening and widening path of science.

Forcing herself to look back again at her magazine she sighed slightly. He could talk to her and even if she wouldn't understand a word, his voice alone would be enough to make her cream. Who was she kidding. He was just sitting there, lost in thought, and it was all she needed to tingle with anticipation. But she closed that door herself. She refused him and then he stopped pursuing… And now she wanted to jump him.

“I'll take a nap,” she said, standing up abruptly.

Bane hummed but didn't otherwise react; it might as well be an acknowledgement of some thought that passed his mind at that moment.

She was silent when she scaled the corridor, but her head was bursting with complaints.  Why didn't she sit by him? Why didn't she just tell him she wanted him, right now? Why didn't she make that final step, the one she insisted he'd let her take?

On a whim she turned just before the guest room.

Did he hear her intrude on the intimacy of his bedroom? She smirked, disrobing carefully and methodically, down to her panties. He always had a soft spot for those. Although today regretfully she had only some regular cotton ones, an outrageously coloured pair with broad strip of lace out front as a sole ornament.

Immersing herself in Bane’s bed she sighed happily. That smell. She remembered it, and the way the sheets were after few of her visits, his fragrance mixed with hers and dirty smell of sex and sweat. She burrowed deeper, stretching comfortably on her stomach, pressing her head to the only pillow. The bed itself was broad, but as a practical man Bane wouldn't see a point in having more than the necessary on top of it. Even in the mattress was supple, the textiles luxurious…

“I hope you understand, there is no escape for you now.”

Helena smiled into soft cotton, angling her head a bit to the side.

“You think?”

“I'm positive,“ he growled sending her a warning glance, pausing for just a second in his stride. She let herself be swept away with curent of anticipation, aware of his movements but not entirely sure what his intentions were.The bed dipped when he reached it, kneeled over Helena and with gentle hand smoothed her hair to the side.

“I won't let you run from me ever again. And my way of securing that,” he mouthed over her delicate ear. She craned her neck, giving him easier access, huffing an unsteady breath out. “my way of securing that would be very simple and very effective. One that I know you'd like.” His fingers danced on top of her skin, tracing a throbbing line down her neck. She felt her abdomen contract in the ageless sensation, a sweet ache brought forward by mere proximity of the man she wanted.

“And what is that?” She smiled when he dipped his hand under her, grunting and cupping her breast, and pressing to her back more fully even through the sheet.

“All I need to do is keep you exhausted. In my bed.“ He taunted. “Wouldn't even need to tie you to it, I'm sure.”

“Oh, but I might like that,” she murmured, savouring his greediness when he impatiently clawed the sheet off and leaned back. She watched him in her peripheral, knowing the exact way his eyes were glistening as he appreciated flowing line of her exposed back, and the way bold shade of her lingerie cut striking lines accentuating her buttocks.

Hot mouth at the base of her neck was a surprise. A welcome one, but break in their pattern, one she still remembered after ten years apart. But he was free to use his mouth now, and Helena scoffed, mad at herself for submerging into the sensation deep enough to forget about that detail. Where was her obsession with his face, that need to touch and see it? Once she would be unrelenting until he’d let her kiss him, especially in the light of day.

It was so long ago...

“Do you remember that first night?” she asked, rising hips to allow him better hold, relishing strong palms circling slightly protruding bones.

“Yes,” he confirmed, voice sharp and strained.

Her back was engulfed in heat when he bore down, put his weight on top of her. One palm slid down in a stealthy movement while he distracted her with licks and nips and kisses around her shoulders and neck.

Helena dug her knees into the mattress, pressing up, rolling her hips to encourage his hand to hit its mark.

“I loved everything you did then,” she panted. Bane's fingers caressed hem of her panties, tickling taut skin on her abdomen. “But I always wanted to have it all finished with an addition of your mouth on my pussy at the end.”

He growled. Helena shivered at the sound and gripped the pillow, pressed her forehead down under weight of his hand tangled in her hair.

“Just like back then?” he asked, humid breath moving fine fuzz at the back of her neck, the one he obsessed over and over again, an eternity ago.

“Please.” The moan was so much more than a plea to continue.

An absolution. A promise. An admission.

Bane didn't waste time to check how ready she was, the evidence was clear to see when he gently slid her underwear off, glimmer of slick moisture sticking to the fabric, like a hair extending until it broke under the tension. The material was down to her mid-thigh, restricting her movement slightly, and his options along with it.

With a start he straightened, realizing only now he was still fully clothed.  

“Do you want me instruct you again?” she asked, turning to him with a laugh.

He was just throwing his t-shirt away, set already on unzipping his pants, his expression fierce and unforgiving.  

Helena gulped.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

Oh, she remembered what was to come now. The gentle and sensual part was apparently over. Helena hissed slightly, nerves zapped with sensation of Bane’s cock hot at her entrance.

He cursed under his breath and moved away, shuffling frantically in cupboard of the bedside table. In record time he fished out a silvery packet, opened it and rolled the condom out, stilling again right before making the last step.

“Bane…” Helena moaned.

He looked at her, from the top of round cheeks hid under his splayed palms, through enticing plane of her back, arched and twisted slightly to let her look at him from under fringe of tousled hair. Thin arms circled his pillow, fingers digging into soft fabric, one over and the other under her head.

She smiled and he pushed.

Home.

The pleasure punched him in the gut, bowing him down with the amount of relief it brought. Even despite near violent tremor that ran up his back he fought to keep his eyes open, filing the moment, committing it to the memory. His brows knitted with concentration and he had to bite his lip to suppress the surge of profanity threatening to spill. Nothing compared.

Underneath him, Helena was immersed in her own little world of sensation, moving in tandem with his thrusts, moaning and sighing in time with his tempo. Or maybe her tempo, Bane wasn't sure anymore. His hands gripped her hips, but did he pull her to him, or did he brace for stability, he didn't know himself. He was dizzy, light headed like after a good few glasses of whisky, spiralling further and further into that mindless feral place where nothing but pleasure mattered.

Vaguely he noticed she was further from the peak than him. And also, that little detail of not having his mask nagged on his mind. Of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wasting such an opportunity, he was an imbecile. With pained whine he reached to his pelvis and pulled out, mindful of the contraption on his cock.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Helena giggled and sat straight, reaching out to touch Bane's chest. He was having none of it. Two quick moves and she was flat on her back, a quick squeak the only reaction she managed before he was back on her, pushing to the hilt and swallowing her groan with his mouth. She gripped his face, fingers playing with ridges of his scars, stroking ears and scratching back of his neck just under his hair. Her tongue drew a slick insistent path over his lips, and he let her mouth some inconsequential nonsense over his cheeks and under his jaw, enjoying the delicate caress.

Too soon he was degraded to a grunting, grinding mess, desperately trying to reach oblivion,  focused solely on his own pleasure. He latched onto Helena's mouth, greedy, insistent and demanding, pumping with fast rhythm, faltering into a stutter. Helena scratched down his back, disentangling forcefully to draw a much needed breath and moan her hoarse cries off into the quiet of the afternoon. Bane was fast on her track, gripping her hair to bring her lips back to his, mouth hot and tight with growls.

Feeling the impending release he slowed, determined to savour the finish, just as he savoured sweat he licked off her skin, as he relished the breathy way she gulped air and violence of nails rising swollen welts on his skin.

“Look at me,” Helena whispered, cutting through his movement, forcing him to snap his head up. “Now.”

Just like that she undid him, all careful calculations and planning, every shred of control he thought he had, stripped off to leave him gulping air almost panicked, snuggling his face to the racing pulse at her neck. His hips moved strongly one more time and then he could only grind up in tight little circles, unable to stop the contact of overheated skin, addicted to moisture sticking them together everywhere. Sweat, saliva and her very own nectar. He regretted putting the condom on; wouldn't mind adding in his semen to the mixing then tasting it all in her, off her.

He remembered her comment then, the one she made while he still was mostly in the possession of his mind.

Wolfish grin spread slowly on his lips.

“I'm not done with you yet,” he warned.

Helena laughed, panting through last tremors of her high.

“I hope you never will be,” she admitted.

 

oOo

 

She knew falling asleep was a mistake.  

Boastful part of her wanted to believe her presence would be enough to placate his demons, to soothe the pain tensing his muscles and disrupting his rest. Foolish. Neither of them had a shred of control over the situation. She knew the awakening would be rude.

Just how rude though, she never would have guessed.

Without preamble she opened her eyes, staring at the sloping ceiling over her head. Her dreams stopped immediately when a hand constricted around her neck. It wasn’t threatening in the beginning, the pressure noticeable but more than bearable. But she didn't dare move. Gently she drew in breath a bit deeper, involuntarily shifting on his outstretched arm and that was enough.

His fingers closed, slowly, deliberately, building the tension of impending doom with practiced ease. Helena knew fighting was no use, and she tried calling to him. Softly, enticingly.

It was no use too.

Her pulse quickened when she had first trouble with swallowing, and out of sheer reflex her hand flew to his, and she dug her nails in, a feeble attempt at prying his paw off of her.

No use at all.

Ugly thoughts creeped into her mind. What if he won't let go? What if he uses the other hand too? What if he's not asleep? She felt dread like a physical sensation, washing like a cold and damp tendril slithering down her spine.

High pitched whine escaped her lips and she trashed, panicked now, trying to free herself at any cost, scratching, hitting, kicking, shouting.

In a second it was over and she was sat upright, halfway off the bed with her effort to get away. Strong arms held her close, pinned, restrained, braced to an overheated body.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” Like a mantra behind her ear, in an uncharacteristic broken whisper, something she didn't suspect Bane capable of.

Her throat was raw, but nonetheless she greedily gulped big gusts of air, trying to remember all and any techniques to calm herself down.

She started inhaling in time with Bane’s slowing words, gradually coming down, tired with the rush of emotions she lived through just now. When she started trembling, he finally let her go.

“Do you want water?” He asked.

She nodded, thankful for the opportunity to sit still alone for a little while.

When he came from the kitchen she was almost back to herself. Bane didn’t apologize anymore, but the guilt was clearly visible in his eyes.

“I'll relocate to my room,” she said plainly. They both winced at how her vocal cords squealed.

Helena knew hiding from the issue would be the worst course to take. They should talk about it. Discuss the reasons, possibilities, paths to follow.

She was so tired with all that meticulous dismantling of every action, each thought, and all reasons behind them. All she wanted was a good night's sleep at Bane’s side, and maybe a repeat performance of their afternoon activity, followed by a carefree morning in the kitchen.

Fat chance.

“Stay for a while,” he said. It wasn't a plea. Neither an order. It sounded like both.

“What for?” she croaked out.

“If you go now you will associate me with what happened. I want to blur that memory,” he explained.

Helena huffed angrily, unsure what she wanted. It did make sense, of course it did. Then again, getting as far away as she could was quite logical too. After all he was the reason her neck was bruised; he could just as easily have her windpipe crushed. Why would she let him try his manipulative tricks now?

“Please,” he whispered. “Don't leave me.”

It was the knife all over again. He knew it was his doing, but had hardly any recollection of the fact. Helena was aware. She suspected there was dissociation, one he was trying to bridge with having her close now. As a reminder to him of what he had done. At the same time he would probably try to caress her to erase painful memory, overlapping it with a pleasurable one.

Reluctantly she shuffled to the bed, sitting on the edge.

He was miserable. Looked actually kind of afraid of her reaction.

“At least you didn't have any weapons close this time,” she smirked tiredly at him.

He gathered her close, easily pulling her to his lap. Rested his chin on the crown of her head. His body was dangerous to her as it was, without augmentation of steel in any shape or form. A terrible realization.

“I don't know what I would do if I'd hurt you more severely,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

“Will you agree to get some professional help?”

He didn’t answer and she tensed again, not bothering to hide the trepidation twisting her heart.

“Bane, please. I won't be able to continue like that.”

“I'll inquire into my options.”

“Thank you.”

She settled down for a while. It was good enough for now.

Bane absent-mindedly stroked her arms, fingers playing with downy hair, lips pressing to the crown of her head in gentle kisses. Neither of them could stay long like that, so eventually Helena stirred and slithered out.

“I should be going now,” she said with a smile.

“You should stay.”

Bane wa tense still. Plagued by what happened most likely.

“I promise I won't drink any poison while you won't be looking.” The poor attempt at a joke escaped Helena’s lips before she thought better.

“Stop joking about it.”

It wasn't a shout. Yet the palpable anger behind Bane's words stilled Helena on her way out. With stiff back she slowly turned.

“Why not?”

It was stupid impulse to nudge him closer to the edge and she knew it. But she had her defense mechanisms as well, her inadequacies and misgivings. Her nerves were bristling still from what transpired just minutes ago.

“Because I lost that child too. Before I even knew it existed. You took the decision away without so much as a courtesy acknowledgement in my direction.”

“That I did. I don't think it is a discussion you want to have right now.”

“How can you be so fucking calm?” he shouted, “I love you but you're so… detached. Is there any shred of humanity left in you to at least admit to yourself what you did?”

“You ask me about humanity? You! How many children you killed with hunger, rapes and violence during Gotham siege? Before that, with raids on civilians, or manipulation of local warlords, or whatever it was that you did as a mercenary?”

Her voice shook, tremors wracking her body like some great beast trying to get out.

“I never wanted to take part in any of that, let alone to be pregnant with you. With anyone! You want to know why I panicked like that? I was afraid you'd make me keep it. I loathed the thought of giving birth to it and then staying at the monastery, looking after it until you'd deem it grown enough to immerse into your little fucked up operation.” Tears welled and overflowed in an instant, hot and stinging. “I had nightmares where I was happy with just sitting there, caring for it and waiting for you,” she sobbed.

Bane was horrified, standing before her with fisted hands.

“I didn't want to like that idea. I didn't want to like you. I didn't want to give you any more power over me than what you already had,” she choked out, overwhelmed with strain of keeping the torrent of memories at bay, impossible once the dam she put up cracked. “What you took and what I so foolishly gave you.” Tears glistened in faint glow from the window, her palms impatiently smoothing over cheeks to get rid of them.

“I got it all regardless.”

His argument, although at face value cruel and impassive, calmed her down. She chuckled and settled visibly. Even her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“You did. You always get what you want.”

“The price is always too high.”

His fists remained closed, gripping nothing but his rage. Or maybe sadness. Clearly there was tempestuous brew of emotions raging in his head as well, even though he tried to maintain a steady, calm facade.

“Come to bed. I won't fall asleep. Just want to hold you.”

Helena kept staring at him, hesitant over her own desires and his true intentions. It was still hard to believe this terrorist, this merciless killer, was in some way dependant on her. Required her presence, her compliance, to feel well.

“Your schedule is already disrupted enough,” she argued. “We both should get rested as much as possible before tomorrow.”

That glimpse, the one she was inadvertently drawn to, was back in his gaze.

“To bed,” he commanded mildly. “Now.”

She scoffed, but the retort died in her throat when he reached out and tugged her close. Still he was gentle with her body, stroking her lightly to placate and relax. The mercenary was holding the reins, since the scientist failed at securing their objective.

“Don't fight me anymore. Not tonight.” Not ever, he added in his head.

To his visible relief she followed him between the sheets, settling a tad uneasily but silently beside him.

They both needed time to unwind, muscles still jumping occasionally with adrenaline leftover from the argument. Bane absentmindedly kissed Helena’s hair, taking the opportunity as he usually did to bask in the faint fragrance. This is what home smelled like. He had one now. Briefly his mind jumped to the memory of a night a short week past, when he emerged from his hallucination. He meant it when he said he was home. No other place shared that title, only the spot by Helena’s side. Whether it was at this cottage or anywhere else in the world.

It was his job now to protect it.

Even from himself.


	3. The Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a bloom of soft and gentle hue emerges from its bud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my dearest ThreeDots, who works every day to get my sorry ass writing. She is the one who makes it all happen folks! I'm just the medium.  
> Thanks, Bee!

Acrid and bitter smoke soured saliva in her mouth. Helena watched as the cigarette burned out steadily under the strong wind, ash eating away at the paper encompassing the tobacco. Slowly, steadily, red flow of the heat relentlessly advancing forward, heralded with a tell-tale wave of warmth on her fingers. She inhaled the last drag and extinguished the butt.

Her throat was still  a bit raw, and the tang of smoke didn't help to mitigate it. It did wonders to her nerves though, and she clung to that thought.

Once more Bane hurt her; unwittingly this time, but it still counted. And she couldn't hold it against him.

And it bothered her. A lot.

He was sorry, she believed that. But how could she build a relationship, her future, again on the shaky pillars of want and dreams? The reality was simple, they were both damaged; he way more than her. Did she have it in her to help him through? She wanted to, but could she really endure another attack in the middle of the night, another hallucination episode, another argument over what was before?

Patch of freshly turned soil caught her eye. His back hurt lately, but still he helped her without a complaint. Placated her after the talk with the DHS agent. She still felt pleasant throb of muscle after last night, a tingle of stretched muscles a very welcome reminder of an excellent bout of sex. All sex was good, but with Bane it was different, special in a way she couldn't really pinpoint. It wasn't his technique or size, nothing as simple and superficial like that. Whatever he did to her body paled in comparison with what he made her feel.

She shuddered under cold wind and went back down the sloping path.

It was nearly a month. Almost thirty days of angsting over and over, always about the same thing. She scoffed angrily, impatient with her own weakness. She made her decision already. It was time to hold up her end of the arrangement.

The mercenary she once loved was in the past. Her friend was in the past.

Her future was the man currently living in the neighbouring cottage.

Her pace was slow but steady, head bowed to try and recognise any irregularities in the path that could hinder her, a difficult task to achieve with only moonlight as her sole light source. This night was stretching in infinity, a never-ending pocket of darkness bringing out their fears under feeble protection of shadows, sure to be dispelled in few hours’ time. Not yet, though. Not before they cleared the air completely.

The walk through silent and unlit rooms and corridor reminded her of that one evening when Bane asked her to come to him, waiting in a darkened chamber. The first time he ever let her touch his face, kiss him, experience him as a whole man. An inferno of a day it was; heavenly at first, then descending rapidly deeper and deeper into an abyss of dread. He was as unstable as she then; she didn’t know. Didn’t suspect the battles he had to endure day after day.

She knew now.

Door to his bedroom was still ajar, just as she left it, the man was still lying in bed. On his side now instead of propped with his back to the headboard. He seemed so much smaller, so much more human. Fragile.

Rustle of her clothes was the only sound above the ever-present swooshing of the wind. She slithered between the covers only in her panties. Wordlessly she ran her cold palms over him, either on each side of his stomach, and then further to the middle of his back, bringing them so close their foreheads could touch with barest tilt of their heads.

“I was angry at you because I felt left alone for so long,” she started.

Bane put his left palm on her cheek and laid there, listening.

“I was confused at first because I didn’t want to miss you. I almost killed myself to get away and then when I was free, I dreamt of getting back, of finding you to explain why, of begging to be close to you again. Even for a little while. Then I set on making myself happy. There were many attempts, some more successful than others. David, Nicklaus, Karim, Andrei, Georges. Some others, some for one night. I was looking for peace and couldn’t grasp what I needed. I tried being alone, too. Friendship with Dorrance was getting me close, but it still wasn’t enough.”

She drew in a long and shaky breath in preparation.

“I never told him, you, about what I was going through. You could read between the lines maybe, but only while we were speaking. How often was it? Once every month, two or three sometimes?” She closed her eyes and knitted her brows, putting his hand from her face to her belly. “Do you feel this scar? It’s too fresh to be the same one from Armenia, right?”

Bane rose on his elbow, forcing Helena to her back as he slid the covers down to inspect her skin.

“What happened to you?”

“I was very, very ill not so long ago. About that time when Dorrance, you“, she corrected again, impatient, “were avoiding me. I have to check up if it's still okay regularly. That’s why Sven made Grace come to see if I was okay. I missed my last appointments.”

“What happened to you?” He repeated, desperate and confused.

“Hysterectomy. Partial. I had cancer.”

He was shell-shocked by the news.

“It's okay now, and when I learnt about it, everything went down pretty fast. Didn’t leave me much time to be truly afraid. I think the surgery was not even a month from when the doctor found that something’s wrong. I was home few days after. Grace visited frequently to cheer me up. I was working as usual. The only real problem was the silence from you.”

She looked up at him, measuring his reaction.

“It’s over and done with. I just wanted you to understand how much baggage I still have over what happened during the last decade. I understand you have yours; in time I hope we will  be able to work through it all. For now I want to just be with you. Without hiding anything, without suppressing negative feelings until they burst.”

A tentative nudge was all it took for Bane to lay back down again, letting Helena cradle him close just like before.  

“Did your sister help?”

“No, I never told her about it. We’re not that close anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Dorrance was a friend. A guy who was fun and nice, but who always kept his distance. The demarcation line was clear and wide enough to be impossible to breach without his help.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I didn’t tell this to make you apologize. Do you hear me?”

She made him look her straight into her eyes, an angry and solemn expression stark contrast to the feelings pouring out of her voice.

“I want you to understand why. If you need anything more from me, just ask. And I want to understand what makes you unhappy and incomplete too, so then I can do something about it. But we need to be honest and clear the air around us and try hard. Because it won’t be easy for either of us. Right?”

He nodded, a minute smile passing over his lips at her commanding tone.

“I always protected those who were close to me. Even with my life, I was prepared to do anything it took. I thought I was protecting you then, when I kept you in the dark. Then, I was staying away to shield you from what was about to come, from the apocalypse in Gotham.”

“You wanted to die?” Her voice was small, but steady.

“For a while. I was prepared to die. And then I was prepared to live. Thanks to you.”

He relaxed into her palms stroking up and down his back, lulling him into warmth and comfort of her embrace.

“I failed. My little girl died. You almost followed, unbeknownst to me. I thought I was the master of what was happening, keeping every string in my hands, when in reality I was the puppet myself. I let emotions blind me. Talia was scheming her own death on top of my plans; she wanted the whole city dead with her. I knew, but deluded myself into thinking I could change her mind in the last second. Or drag her to safety against her will. And you, you were suffering in silence, taking your life into your own hands. Just like you did back then, in the monastery. I always admired how goal-oriented you were when pushed to the limit. You’re so pliable and weak at a first glance. But elusive. Like water, filling the boundaries if they’re impenetrable but chasing the escape as soon as the slightest crack appears. I admire that. I admire lots of things about you.”

There was a moment of silence between them, a complete and utter peace and quiet over the house. Even the wind stopped for a while and the eerie calm settled gradually, like dust falling in place after a fight. Helena never stopped the mesmerizing movement of her hand, palm sliding over Banes skin, over bumps and ridges, again and again in the most basic of comforting gestures.

His low voice was barely above a whisper, audible only because they were so close their breaths mingled in the dark space between them.

“I used to protect Talia, holding her like this. Even in my sleep, especially in my sleep, looking over her. Shielding from harm.”

Tears streaked down the tops of his cheeks and nose, gathering in a small stain on the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I’m beaten and damaged and worthless now. I’m sorry I never stopped to listen in time.”

“We will get through this, together,” Helena implored. Determination glistened in her eyes when she gathered his face in her palms. “I will show you how I see you. And you will be, for once in your life, content and complete.”

She pressed a hot, insistent kiss on his closed lips, then followed it with a quick succession of chaste pecks all over his face.

“Sleep now,” she ordered, pressing her lips to his closed eyelids. “I will look over you.”

 

oOo

 

Two hours passed with Helena looking over Bane’s sleeping form. There were so many familiar things about it; but so much more unfamiliar. She could do it now whenever she wanted. No one would come and escort her back to a small room, solitary quarters fit only for work and sleep. He would never make her imagine how he looked, his face now barren of the dreadful mask.

There were scars she half-remembered and she traced them with her eyes; lest she woke him up if she did that with pads of her fingers. Some she thought that should be there, on his neck and torso, that weren’t there. Either covered with other more serious marks or just a figment of her imagination. She studied him leisurely, from the top of his dirty blond mop of hair with silvery streaks here and there, to the hem of the duvet shielding his stomach and legs. It was an absorbing activity and surprisingly enjoyable. Maybe because Bane didn’t snore.

She smiled and eventually settled her head back on the pillow, letting the cramped muscles in her arm and neck stretch out and rest.

The air in the room seemed lighter and fresher than before or she could finally breathe easier. As if the proverbial rock was lifted up from her chest. So many things were left unsaid between them it felt impossible to breach the ravine. But they weren't at the bottom, they were at the top, at cliffs overlooking a pass, and the bridge was already drawn between them. They only needed to reinforce it and widen the path.

A doable task.

Bane stirred slightly and yawned, a mumbled greeting escaping along with a sigh.

“Any plans for today?” she asked, smiling warmly down at him.

He shook his head and shifted closer, hiding his face into her chest, making her laugh.

“You’re such a bum.”

He wasn’t, she was the first to acknowledge how hard working and self-driven he was. Still, it was cute how he chose to just linger in bed with her. Helena on the other hand was slowly developing bed sores.

“I should get a job,” she said, a sudden realization startling even for her.

Bane twisted to look at Helena, amused smirk shyly blooming on his lips.

“Whatever for?”

“Structure mostly. Believe it or not some people do it for the money. I've got a friend, Anna, you'll meet her at Grace's on Easter, she's a teacher in a local school here and she has been pestering me about organizing handwriting lessons for kids. Young teenagers, so I declined initially, obviously. Who needs that drama? But now, come to think of it, I might use a steady source of income and the mundane repetition of scheduled activity sounds pretty compelling. I've been mulling over myself long enough as it is…”

“You need money?” Bane interrupted, rising slightly in alarm.

“I've depleted my savings quite a bit over last few years and I haven't worked since your last assignment. In May last year, I think. I'm not broke yet, but I have to start doing something about at least my day-to-day expenses.”

He let her soothe him back down to where he was before, but it was obvious he was still ill at ease.

“I'll give you what you need.”

With a small smile she linked their fingers and raised his right palm to her lips.

“I'll manage on my own. Structure, remember? Besides, I can't be depending on you on everything, that was going on for too long as it is.”

“I want to provide for you.“

“Aren't your savings getting smaller? Come to think of it, where do you, as Dorrance, get your money from?”

“I had some awards granted and accolades.“

“That's hardly sufficient for all this, let alone all other places you said you own.”

“Before being a physicist Dorrance was dealing in antiquities.”

“Huh.”

“Every penny on my personal accounts is legal, if that's what you were wondering about.”

That was a curious bit of information. Helena mused over the thought for a while.

“I was, yeah. Antiques. That explains the manuscript.“

Bane hummed.

“Are you rich?”

The question was rapid and sounded almost as if she couldn’t help herself. He chuckled, snuggling a bit closer; a bear in the arms of a rabbit. He seemed content.

“I have enough for both of us to be comfortable.“

“Huh.” Helena smoothed her unrestricted hand down his neck and shoulders, feeling the now familiar scars. “That's nice.”

“Indeed.”

They enjoyed tranquillity of just being there, safe and calm in the moment. Sleep wasn’t an option and the day slowly crept upon them, so eventually Helena sighed and untangled carefully.

“Let's get some breakfast,“ she said.

He hummed an affirmation.

Trekking silently through an unlit corridor they brushed hands, tentatively reestablishing the connection frayed by Bane’s earlier outburst. In the living room Helena made him stop and admire with her the hue of the sky brightening in the east, a lovely shade of Prussian blue fading into thin azure line and then budding brilliance of lilacs. Soon there would be a golden shine on the water, but for now the sea was black and still, on the brink of the new day.

They stood still for a while, basking in tranquillity of dawn, shielded against morning cold with warmth of their bodies, Bane’s strong shoulders loosely wrapped around Helena’s back, her head resting comfortably on his clavicle.

“I love you,” she murmured, contentment spreading like a warm current around her body, “I think I always have.”

She smiled when she felt Bane press a chaste kiss to her hair. This was perfect, the calmness and safety palpable even though their earlier altercation was a tempest of bad feelings and painful memories. Whatever would happen they were in it together, she reminded herself.

Disentangling with a sigh she stroked his biceps, a fleeting, teasing touch.

“What would you like to eat?”

He leered, making Helena sneer in amusement over implied suggestion.

“Too soon. I was asking food-wise this time.”

He chuckled, following her down two steps to kitchen area.

“We have some bread, but it will be stale by now. French toast?”

“Nah, I don't feel like anything sweet.” She frowned, rummaging through the cupboards. Her eyes lit up with satisfaction and she exclaimed shortly, pulling out a packet and presenting it to Bane.

“Let's have rice and miso soup, what do you say?”

“Okay.” He smiled, enjoying her little happy dance when she fished out additional ingredients she liked.

“I'll wash the rice and put it on. In the meantime you could get your meditation out of the way.”

“Out of the way?”

She turned to the sink, already elbows deep into a big bowl filled with rice and cold water.

“It takes time. I thought it would be efficient to do it now, instead of after breakfast.”

“You're right.”

There was a detachment in his tone, neutrality that was too obvious, making Helena shake her head.

“Are you reading into what I just said?”

“Perhaps.”

“And what are your conclusions, huh?”

“Your tone suggested you have something against it.” He knew that what he heard was there, but perhaps she didn’t realize it herself. A shadow of resentment, a glimmer of anger.

“My tone.” She sighed. There was no way they could jump-start trust and knowledge of their feelings instantly, even with all the talking they did that night. “Okay. What did my words tell you?”

“That you want me to get it over with.“ The implication was clear. He knew she wasn’t a fan of this activity.

“Give me benefit of a doubt please, and assume I'm not trying to mindfuck you every time I speak?”

Maybe she was just unsure of what was he doing when he went away to meditate? The assumption that he hid something from her wouldn’t be totally unfounded; while she never hinted she suspected him of anything, her instincts clearly told her he was dishonest. That was impeding their communications on a subconscious level.

“You are right,” he said. Then in a rare instance of spontaneity he followed it with, “I'll do it here, if you don't mind.”

“Won't my cooking distract you?”

“Not more than usual.”

“Oh, okay.”

She stood there, an open jar forgotten in her hands, completely dumbfounded.

Smirking under his nose, Bane brought his incense and a flat pillow from his room. Helena's quick glances resulted in warm tingle along his spine every time he caught one in reflection on the glass. It was chilly beside the window, but the view was spectacular, the sunrise unfolding slowly before his very eyes, almost close enough to feel rising tension of particles heating up under onslaught of the radiant burn.

He sat on his hunches, knees spread comfortably on the floor. With a deep breath he refocused on himself instead of his surroundings. Lighting the fragrant stick to glow into an ember he exhaled, extinguishing the flame and leaving only a dull wisp of smoke floating in an ethereal thread up to the ceiling. Another breath and he felt every ache in his joints and muscles, the assaulting awareness of his diminished constitution as unpleasant as ever. He left all musings and regret on that with yet another calming inhale, feeling the sandalwood smoke filling his nose with a smooth familiarity. He watched the water, reflecting first shy sunrays, flickering and fluid, never letting him focus on one thing. His consciousness flowed and bended with the sea, expanding to fit every millimetre of the room he was in.

Beams in the ceiling creaked slightly, adjusting under never ending wrestle of the gale. The wind itself swooshed playfully along planes of glass, whistling an invitation to come out and join the fun of skimming through rocks and grasses and leaves. Back behind him Helena was stirring dashi in the pot, adding a low whisper of gas flame to the quiet melody of the morning. She hummed in the back of her throat, half aware she was doing it, making Bane smile slightly. His focus distorted and sharpened intermittently threatening to break his tranquillity, but whenever this problem arose, the ebbing and flowing lines of the sea soothed his mind.

Humid and pleasant smell of cooking rice mixed with the incense, accompanied by light, salty note of steeping soup. Any minute now Helena will add wakame, then chop scallions and gently divide tofu. He was aware of her every move, following her in his mind as she rummaged through the kitchen, no doubt in search of toppings for the rice. All at the same time he was watching her cook eggs and season tuna, enjoyed the sunrise, listened to his own heartbeat and dissolved his consciousness to a point where only the barest awareness of self was left.

He floated, elated, on the feeling of absolute harmony, present in each moment as it began, unfolded and passed, seamlessly leading him to the next one, further along in time.

“It’s ready,” Helena called out softly, hesitantly.

He hummed his response, confirming he heard her, letting himself enjoy the extension of vibrations this simple sound produced. He unfurled slowly, accepting back every ache and complaint his body communicated.

There was still one thing to do.

“Can you give me five minutes?”

“Sure, it's ready but can sit and wait another hour.”

“Five minutes will suffice.”

He went to his bedroom and observed Helena cautiously as he came back with vaporizer and a vial in hand.

“For my nerves,” he joked.

Helena watched him with a little frown as he sat on the sofa, the one in her direct line of vision instead of the other that would leave her to ogle his back. Few practiced movements were all it took before he leaned back and dragged a deep puff of the vapour.

He felt the cushion dip under added weight, moved free arm to let Helena snuggle close, cradled possessively with his hand on her hip.

“What is it?”

“Pot,” he said, using the same term she brought up a while back, purposefully adding a taunting lilt to his words. Despite the meditation he was coiled up in preparation, gauging every reaction she displayed.

“For the pain?”

“And the stress, yes.” he supplied, relieved. Another drag went almost unnoticed, acceptance of the woman beside him as intoxicating as any drug. “I still have to inject myself with some medications and take some pills, but it's all at bearable levels.”

“Bearable,” she whispered.

Bane relaxed into the sofa, sighing as her palm travelled up and down his torso. The skin there was still very tender, but her touch was gentle, sliding delicately over the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, her voice small.

Bane suspected what she was thinking. He was in a good mood, not at all inclined to spoil it with another solemn talk. No point in any more of those.

“Yes. There is one thing I would benefit from and it requires a second pair of hands.”

“What is it?” She perked up a bit, craned her neck to look him in the eye.

She scowled at his playful grin.

“Full body massage, with special attention on…”

“Oh, shut it,” she groaned and slid away, going back to the kitchen. “I swear I'm never going to feel bad for you again.”

Laughing, Bane stayed in his spot, intent on riding the pleasant and unusual rush of steady satisfaction until the very end.

Meanwhile Helena laid out their meal, grumbling under her breath all the time. She cut and arranged the twisted and layered Japanese omelette, put beside it a saucer with teared up seaweed, then another with pickled beetroot and some salad leaves, emerald green a sharp contrast to the pickle. Next was the bowl with tuna mixed with mayonnaise, sprinkled on with colourful mix of sesame, peppercorns and chili flakes. Two cups of steaming soup, miso swirling softly in its depths. Last but not least, bowls for the rice and chopsticks.

Bane sauntered slowly towards the bar, sucking in his last whizz of the medicine. He left the vaporizer on the counter and took the warm pot of steamed rice from Helena's hands, transferring it absentmindedly to the board left for that purpose. With the same fluidity of movement he turned back towards the scribe and cradled her jaw in his hands warmed slightly beyond his usual temperature. He took his time looking into her eyes, lowering slightly towards her, inhaling the smell of her body and noting every minute change in her breath, every twitch and spasm of muscle. Her hands rested lightly above his hips, thumbs stroking little circles on soft cotton of his clothes.

“Thank you for making me happy,” he said simply.

The smile she gave him stilled his breath with sheer joy radiating towards him.

 

oOo

 

“Oh gods,” Helena moaned.

Strolling out of the bathroom in pajama bottoms and few stray drops of water Bane looked at her questioningly.

“Grace called. That meal on Sunday will be an ‘Easter Murder Mystery’ brunch.”

“A what?”

“Murder mystery brunch,” Helena mumbled, looking awkwardly to the side.

“But why?”

“Norwegian tradition.”

“Aren’t they Americans?”

“Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect. Not their fault anyway.”

“Not what I meant. But, you know, that can be rectified.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit. Going back to mine to change. Pick me up at half past ten, okay?”

“Rendezvous 10:30, Roger that.” He mock saluted and grinned, turning back to finish his morning ablutions.

The shops were open only until the early afternoon since on Thursday the Easter celebration was supposed to begin. Norway had the longest Easter holiday period in the world, and it showed in the long queues of last-minute shoppers. Helena implored Bane to stack up on everything, even though technically there would be some stores open on Saturday.

He didn’t fight her too hard, especially when she failed to buy him once the mushroom of his choice. No matter if fresh shiitake were nowhere in sight, he was still  cross with her for even suggesting he could substitute it with cremini. So now he insisted to shop with her or alone, to always get exactly what he needed. Helena was fine with that; Bane suspected a subtle subterfuge on her part, but couldn’t prove it.

Their cart was filled halfway with produce when they finally made it to the queue and time waiting for their turn at the checkout was spent on a banter over who would pay. Then, Helena took Bane to lunch in a restaurant by the bay, right on the pier. Ride back home was spent in a companionable silence. Helena left Bane to unload everything and went back to her cottage.

He followed soon after, unwilling to stay away for too long.

The view which greeted him was a pleasant surprise, one he didn’t know he missed. Or how much he missed, to be exact.

“You're writing again?”

“I thought it would be nice to get back on that horse.” Her joke was half-serious. The desk was dusty, clearly not used for quite some time. She had to take away some saplings growing in seedling containers and clean it with a cloth before she settled on the chair. “I want to make a little something for Fergusons for Easter. “

“A psalm?”

“I know they're both believers, even though they don't attend any congregation. I think Graham is Catholic, but Grace was originally a Presbyterian.“

Bane watched her work, practicing simple lines on a bit of decorative paper, acquainting herself back with her tools. It didn’t take long for her to switch to whole sentences, to get the flow of ink just right, the thickness of lines perfect and controlled.

“Do they have any children?”

“Several. Let me think.” She tapped index finger on her lips, smearing a bit of ink there. “I'm sure they have three. Maybe four. Two girls and a boy, all very much grown-up, around my age and older.”

Now she switched to inspecting pigments in small jars, waiting in neat rows. Just like they were at her workshop way back when; all perfectly organized and prepared for work even when not in use.

“Would you like me to help you with your plants?”

“Would you?” She twisted back in her seat, her project forgotten for the time being. “That would be great. It's fertilizing time and I planned on planting all plants after Easter. We could buy missing seedlings and put them all in at the same time.”

“Sounds good.” He nodded, smiling slightly. “Everything is where you showed me before?”

“You'll get to it now then?”

“Yes. I'll make lunch after. You work.”

“Mhm.”

Gathering his tools was a simple task and he used it to keep observing her. As always, he couldn’t take his eyes off the graceful curve of her neck. Now he knew exactly how she smelled, what the texture of fine hair there felt underneath his lips. How she shivered when he would press himself to her back and hunch over her shoulder.

Shaking off the thoughts, filing them out for later, he set to his job. Jacket off, he rolled up sleeves of his shirt and henley underneath, then prepared the bags of compost and spade to dig it in. One quick survey to establish the bounds of his workplace finally, and he put on gloves. The first trench went easy and he filled it with organic matter in a short minute. The second went almost as fast, but the further it went, the more he felt the strain on his back. Halfway in he stopped and stretched using the spade as a support. He probably should have worn his brace for this type of work, next time the opportunity arose, he thought. For now, he was almost done, so he decided to just endure the strain until the end.

As he was digging from the far side, the finish line was just at the terrace. As he neared, he heard the door open behind his back, bringing out faint tune playing somewhere inside.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m almost done. Make me some tea, please.”

“What kind?”

“Black,” he grunted through his teeth, shoving the spade deep in with his foot.

His boots would require a thorough cleaning.

In five minutes he was back inside, cramming into Helena's small bathroom. Large panel of milky white glass let in abundance of light without sacrificing privacy, but it was still too exposed for him. And too small. Tiny space was filled with a toilet, a simple sink and moderate shower. Once that would suit him just fine. An eternity ago. Now, he held bathtubs in high esteem. His own house was fitted with a very stable and adequately sized tub, elliptical and even in height. He could easily fit in and stretch, which was what he intended to do right after bringing Helena back home.

“Tony?”

The name startled him. He turned around, drying his hands on a towel hanging by the sink, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Was planning out the rest of the afternoon.”

“The tea is ready.”

“I’ll be right there.”

What if she wouldn’t like to get back with him tonight?

He came out to find her sitting on the long slab of concrete which ran through the side of the cottage and then out on the inner terrace. She had some pillows and blankets to make it more cozy, using them to form a shezlong of sorts. Mugs waited by her side, steaming and inviting with a rising streak of bergamot aroma.

“I made earl grey,” she said.

Bane nodded, sitting by her side, elbows on knees, warming his hands on hot ceramic.

“You never called me by my name before.”

She scoffed and sipped her drink to gain a bit of time. Hide her uneasiness.

“I admit it still feels weird. To even think of you as ‘Tony’.”

He nodded again. No wonder, he didn’t think of himself that way either.

“Would you mind if I found a nickname for you?”

“Nickname.”

“An endearment,” she precised. “For me and only me to call you with.”

Leaning back he mulled over the idea. In the background Doris Day sang how she loved someone a bushel and a peck.

“That could work,” he admitted finally, eliciting a relieved sigh from Helena. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I think it should come naturally. I’ll run things over you as they come, how about that?”

“That’s acceptable.”

They sipped tea enjoying naive songs. Early evening settled gradually over the sea.

Bane had at the tip of his tongue an admission how used he got to the calm familiarity they shared. It couldn’t last, not with his burning desire to excel and always push further. But for now it was perfect just as it was.

“Would you like to go for a stroll while there’s still light out?”

He looked at the sky, judging how many minutes of daylight were still left.

“A short one.”

“Let’s go then. I want to see where we have some wildflowers, since I won’t be able to buy an arrangement for Grace. I was thinking of getting her lily of the valley bouquet, I think I saw some by the edge of trees there,” she said, pointing to the forest nearby.

Bane shrugged on his jacket, while Helena went back to the hanger to get her coat and a scarf. He stopped her when she passed him, inspecting the bruises on sides of her throat before she hid them again under hair and wool.

“I will make it up to you,” he promised.

She smiled taking his hands away and set out, a brisk pace, purposeful and steady.

“So… if I wanted a swimming pool would you get one built for me?” she asked once they were out on tarmac leading to the beach. From there they would go up the slope, their back to the sea, to a small cliff and then to a narrow meadow stretching before the treeline.

“Why would you need a swimming pool?“

“Surprisingly, for swimming.”

Bane shook his head, stopping her to point to some bluebells. They crouched over and she used a pair of scissors she brought to cut some stems. Bane helped with his knife.

“Is the whole ocean not enough for you?”

“It's cold and murky and unrestricted,“ she argued.

“Beautiful.“

“Dangerous.“

He snorted derisively.

“I'm not getting you a pool.”

Frowning at him from across the patch of flowers she tried one more time.

“Well, the Olsen’s have one. And Calmeyer’s. And that little weird lady who lives in the big white house at the crossroads.”

“No.”

He grunted, getting up with a huff. They set uphill, heading towards the forest where white dots of lilies were already visible.

“What about an infinity pool?”

“What is that?”

“A very small pool with a turbine generating a current. It's great for back problems I hear.”

“I don't have any.”

“Sure.”

“There is no need marring this landscape for you to soak once or twice.” He paused. “A yacht on the other hand…”

“Is that why there is a pier?”

“Perhaps.”

“You slimy bastard!”

“You can't have it all, my love.”

“I beg to differ,” she taunted, hiding her nose in flowers. They didn’t smell much, mostly of greenery and weeds, so she straightened with a slight scowl.

“I always wanted to learn sailing,” he offered, an explanation unexpected but not unheard of.

“Like a pirate?” She perked up visibly.

The jab was slight, but still made Bane chuckle.

“A corsair,” he corrected, leaning down to yank some flowers out as he passed them.

“Oh, right.”

He handed her more bluebells, mingled with some wild buttercups.

“If you need to exercise you could go to my pilates class.”

“You teach pilates?” She teased him again, knowing exactly what he meant. The bunch of flowers was a handful already and she switched them around to distribute the yellows evenly around.

“No, I'm merely practicing.“

“For those back problems you don't have?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is that how you keep all this… bulk?” any opportunity to look him over was good, but now Helena exaggerated the appreciation she had for his still formidable physique.

“No.”

“Okay, then.” Then it hit her. “Wait. When did you start going to a pilates class?“

“After our talk by the fire. I went to see a specialist and he recommended activities to ease some of the strain.”

“That's wonderful!“

Bane snorted. “Grace is attending the same class.”

“Is she? Did you work on mending that peculiar first impression you made?”

“I might have made some progress with her.”

“I bet you have!” She laughed, delighted with the idea of Grace warming to Bane’s presence in her life. “So, will you show me how to stretch myself?”

It turned out she wasn’t as flexible as he thought much to their dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a reader at ff.net suggested I give Bane a nickname tied to his field of work. A name of a constellation, perhaps. I was thinking long and hard about it, but can't decide on one. Nothing seems good enough. So I'll try to incorporate some ideas about it in two chapters I have left in here. If you have any comments, please, don't ever hesitate to give me a piece of your mind! :) 
> 
> PS. I made two very minor changes in previous chapters. Needed to gain a few days. No one noticed, right?


	4. The Fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn that an intelligent man who bears a lot of old scars is the epitome of danger, and the fruit ripens best under glaring rays of sun.

 

Helena slept in Bane’s cottage again, alone in ‘her' room. It was always slightly different to get up knowing someone else was there, especially since last night. After stretching she sat up, rubbing her eyes and scratching scalp with a yawn to get rid of last sand of sleep from her head. The talks were exhausting, but productive; she could feel a sense of repose already seeping tentatively in a warm gust around her.

But then she remembered her date today. The dreaded brunch.

There was still time, she thought, desperately trying to untie the knot her stomach preferred as of late as its default state. So many things to worry about and she chose the most pleasant one as the topic of her fears. Stupid. To think she almost grasped tranquillity before she crushed it herself like an idiot.

The hallway floor was pleasantly cool under her bare feet; a smooth wooden path towards the living area, still somewhat dark but smelling enticingly of fresh pastries and bread.

She stood at the threshold, in the same place where Bane pressed her to the wall just two weeks prior, watching the man reading some printouts on the sofa. There was no mask on his face, but he was irritatingly similar to the terrorist she once knew, his broad frame filling the space not only with his bulk, but with palpable confidence radiating off him even in his now relaxed state. The paradigm shifted last night. Maybe he had enough mourning and pitying, and needed a good cleansing of atmosphere to set out to new beginning.

“Good morning,“ he said, never raising his head from the fine print he was absorbed in.

“Mornin’.”

“There are challah buns for breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry.” She yawned, smiling through it when she saw him raise his head. “You seem rested.”

“I slept. You should eat.”

“That's always good to hear.“

Blatant dismissal of his second remark resulted in Bane's eyes narrowing visibly.

“Eat your breakfast.”

“I'm not into sweets in the morning.”

“There are other things.”

“Not hungry.”

“You need to pay better attention to regularity of your diet.”

“I have stuff to do. Have to pick flowers for Grace. Choose what I’m supposed to be wearing at the brunch. Iron clothes. Shower before that. Do my hair.” She glanced at the clock. Six AM. “There’s so little time.”

“We have five hours to get there. It’s a ten minute drive.”

“As I’ve said, I don’t have time for eating, and it’s pointless anyway since we're going for a meal.”

With a sigh he got up, strolled so close he almost brushed Helena’s body with his. Crouched and threw her over his shoulder.

“What the… Bane!”

“Call me by my actual name, please.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes. Ouch!”

He deposited her at the narrow end of the kitchen bar, leaving her legs hanging off on each side of him.

“I’m not joking.”

“What is this then?”

“Breakfast.”

“Oh.”

Not much she could say to that. He pressed a warm palm to her sternum, keeping her down on the counter.

“I won't be able to eat in this position.”

“You misunderstood. I'll be the one doing the eating.”

“Oh.” The drowned-out sound morphed into a giggle and then a sigh, when he slid hem of her nightshirt up, exposing her undergarments, then wasted no time in mouthing at the juncture of her thighs through the fabric.

“You might want to take off the wrapping,” she proposed, a little out of breath but perplexed more than aroused.

“I know what I'm doing,” he growled.

Maybe he did, but it had little effect on Helena. Pleasant tingle as he stroked her legs and rubbed stubbly cheeks on her skin never rose to the insistent itch, nevermind the feverish burn of need to have him everywhere. Meanwhile, he already was hooking his fingers at the hem of her panties, straightening to slide them down.

She used the opportunity to place both feet on his chest in a teasing, but restraining gesture.

“It's not really working for me.”

Bane scoffed, keeping a hard gaze on her hips, then thighs, following path of the fabric he was taking off of her.

“You misunderstood again, Helena. This is not for you.”

Something in the quality of his voice frightened her more than what he said, what he meant by his words. She observed him bending her knees carefully with his arm on the underside of them, the gentleness laced with something sinister, almost cruel, when he slid her panties off entirely and put them in his pocket. The gesture was familiar, she saw it before.

Right.

“Where are we?” she asked.

He looked up at her, sharp movement of his head reflected in play of muscles visible on his chest.

“Tell me where we are right in this moment,” she pressed, trying to sound calmer than she felt.

Realization was evident on his face, of his stumble and her awareness of it. He hunched over Helena, still imposing but now unthreatening, braced on the counter at her sides. His head hung low, so she couldn't see his face anymore.

“For a while I was somewhere else,” he admitted.

Then he surprised her, bowing down to her stomach and licking across the scars there. Muscles tensing she threaded fingers through his hair, trying to gain a semblance of control over the situation. She frowned, looking at the ceiling, the lamps over her head a dizzying assembly of circles.

Bane shifted his hands to caress her again, stopping briefly to yank one chair close, to sit while he continued to press open mouthed kisses on her abdomen.

Helena couldn't stop him, didn't have the heart to do it, not when he was so concentrated. She closed her eyes with a sigh, trying to relax into the feeling. Her stomach was still twisted with trepidation, minutes and tasks left until the brunch a constant backfeed in her brain.

The sensation of his warm and wet mouth on her cold and dry nether lips was momentarily unpleasant, a contrast too great to be pleasurable at this stage. She twisted away a bit, feeling him waiting millimetres above her, baiting his breath. When she stilled he resumed, long lick around her core, leaving her shivering from cold and budding irritation.

“This really isn't working for me.”

Bane hummed, not deterred in the least.

“Are you listening to me?”

She strained to look at him, able to raise only her head, since he pressed his big palm to her sternum again.

The look that greeted her as she did was frustratingly erotic; she squared her jaw against wave of heat that finally sparkled in her core. Her eyes involuntarily travelled down his splayed hand, thick arm circling around her waist, rising into muscled shoulder. Then there he was, head buried between her legs, just a moment ago lost in the experience of French kissing her pussy.

Now, he was looking up at her, eyes narrowed in the expression she couldn't really place, mouth still working lazily on her body.

She was too stubborn to admit she'd like him to continue.

She was pissed.

He looked fierce and ridiculous at the same time, eager to pleasure her and angry for not participating the way he wanted. Noting her half sceptical, half provoking staring he taunted her, finishing his latest movement with an exaggerated lick, open mouthed and positively obscene.

She thudded her head back on the counter, defeated when they both felt the stab of desire, clenching her muscles, leaving tip of his tongue coated in her essence.

“Shall I stop?”

Fucker, she thought, gritting her teeth and whining lowly in her throat, because he had the audacity to follow that question with another lick, this time languidly circling her clit, engulfing her in his mouth for a long while.

“Shall I stop?” He asked again, infuriating smile audible in the mocking lilt of his words, and then he bit tendon of her thigh, high beside her hip, electing a full-fledged moan and some flailing as she looked to grab him by the head.

He chuckled and deflected, redirecting her palms to the arm still holding her down. She gripped, fingers tense and trembling, on the thick forearm, relishing the play of muscles, splay and warmth of the hand covering her chest.

How did he turn the table this easily?

Helena opened her eyes with a sigh, swallowing and frowning up at him. Bane understood her wordless question. Unerring as ever.

“You're tense, I'm tense, I thought this might be a good way to relax us both.” The explanation sounded genuine. Unusual in its lighthearted air.

“What about that episode?”

“Ten seconds long hallucination is hardly an episode.” he reasoned. His lips pressed to her stomach again, strengthening his argument. “I must confess, this really is working for me.”

Despite herself Helena laughed. So she wasn't in the mood when he started. Okay. Now he had her aroused, and practically laid out as a buffet, and he never left any shred of doubt over how much he liked oral stimulation. Giving and receiving.

Wasn't this the whole point of foreplay, to get to a point of mutual excitement?

A pause in his ministrations and his deep voice, more serious for a change, brought her attention back to the man himself.

“Shall I stop?”

Her thighs trembled a bit, the left caressed with his palm, right braced awkwardly on the edge of the work counter. She was a bit cold and more than a little uncomfortable.

But there was something childlike in his defiance, a perverse challenge giving some semblance of pride over making her wet despite her initial indifference, thinly veiled stubbornness to continue more than the desire to please either of them. Like he had to endure, like giving up halfway would be a failure.

Did she want to stop him from worshipping her body, especially now that he finally wrenched favourable response out of her?

“Oh hell no,” she grinned. “Knock yourself out.”

Her eager reaction surprised him, so much that she noticed how he relaxed, the tension he was talking about and she didn't see herself before leaving his frame in an instant. She let herself fall back down, boneless and smug.

There was absolutely no point blowing this situation into a problem, dismantling every aspect of it for discussion and observation. So he thought for a while he was somewhere else. It happened. Lingering on the matter accomplished nothing but souring their moods. They both needed distraction of some silly activity, and sex seemed like a gateway drug for leisure, to prepare them for challenges waiting through the rest of the day.

“Where are you?”

She blinked and looked down at Bane, aware that she just spaced out.

“I'm here.”

Involuntary twitch of Helena's legs, an upward movement like in preparation to flight, brought a predatory smile to his lips. It never reached his eyes, giving the scribe an idea what his expression might have been most of the time when he was wearing his mask. The stillness with which he regarded her reminded her of a wolf stalking its prey.

He looked lethal. Dangerous. Powerful.  

It turned her on like nothing else.

“Are you sure?”

His right hand left her chest and he straightened, looking down at her nearly dispassionately. She did notice his arousal, so the effect was a little off. Or maybe that was his intention, to show her exactly enough to put her at ease.

“Yes?” She managed to whisper out, watching nervously as his palms stilled at her hips. Thumbs teased with delicate stroking at the hollow near her pussy.

He was doing nearly nothing at all. And she felt her breaths grow heavier, her abdomen clench in sweet anticipation, his demeanour affecting her faster and more potently than his actions.

“What's my name?”

He made her laugh, and incredulous rising of her eyebrows smoothing over almost instantly.

That was new. She expected this kind of question from one of her former ingenues, a playful way to ensure the person they were with used them with the knowledge of who was on the other end.

Maybe he wanted to play-pretend?

“Bane,” she said in a throaty, buttery tone.

He didn't smile back. His thumbs stilled then pressed painfully for a second. He shook his head, never stopping watching her.

“Oh fuck,” she muttered. It was getting her hotter than a tin roof on a sunny day. Probably because she knew deep down it was an excuse, an act to bring them both to the same place. Want and demand, and absolute focus.

Bane narrowed his eyes again, slowly lowering back to his seat, sliding his palms down to her knees, pressing them open even more.

Helena grasped the counter more securely.

He leaned down, looking into her eyes when he licked once at her clit.

“My name.”

Shudder went through her at his tone. It was more of a growl than anything. She was sure he used that same exact way of speaking ordering mercenaries around. Her pussy clenched under the fleeting caress of his warm breath.

If not ‘Bane’ what could she call him?

“Tony, “ she gasped out with a little scowl. It sounded wrong.

But he rewarded her, latching onto her clit with mind blowing dedication, putting her legs over his shoulders. That warmed her up alright, especially when he moaned contented over her flesh. She smiled into the sensation of vibrations travelling up her body, lazily playing with her breasts with one idle hand.

“Excellent,“ he growled.

Helena really was beyond what he meant by that, focused entirely on his actions for a change. Zipper rasped quickly, velcro complained as he yanked on the strap keeping lapels of his slacks together. She couldn't see what he did from his position hidden between her legs, but she had a pretty good idea from the way his right shoulder shifted under her thigh.

The knowledge affected her more than his caress.

“Bane…”

Sudden stop of all contact startled her up. She looked down, propped on her elbow, hard surface of the counter unforgiving under her bones as she shifted her legs for missing purchase.

He was shaking his head, as if displeased. A shit eating grin plastered on slightly glistening lips, a threat almost, as he leant comfortably on his chair.

“Not my name.”

Helena frowned, panting, biting her lips when she saw him lick his. Her eyes sneaked down, but the counter was too high, obstructing her view. Regardless, she knew he was still fisting himself.

She swallowed.

“Dear doctor Dorrance,“ she said spitefully. “Kindly put your mouth back over my pussy, please.”

It didn't sound like a plea. Not one bit.

“I think I need some more incentive to continue.”

She gasped, and sat upright.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned before she could help herself. He was sitting there like her every wet dream, shirtless and relaxed, save for the crucial part of his physique. Sliding dangerously close to the edge she reached to clasp his jaw.

He let her bring him close for a kiss. Sloppy and needy entanglement of mouths and tongues, without a hint of finesse. Pretense was obsolete. She wanted to finish, careless of his intentions, of her own doubts before he got her really aroused, and she didn't care in the least what would be the means to get her there.

“Fuck me Tony,” she moaned, still shaking her head in resentment, still unease about the context of what she was saying.

He panted over her mouth, smiling, searching for the right words to describe what he wanted from her.

“I used to think of all your taunts when we emailed. All the times you flirted with me. All the opportunities to ask you for pictures, or videos, or just an outright admittance of your willingness.” His hand kept working over his cock, slowly and leisurely, mesmerizing Helena, drawing her gaze away from his face. He kissed her again, brought his free hand to angle her head, fisting a bunch of hair for better grip. “And I denied myself all that. So that one day, perhaps like this one, one day I could sit and hear you say those words. Knowing you want me, and only me, not some construct of your imagination, not a memory of someone else.”

There was no chance for her to answer. Once more he licked into her mouth, sinful like a decadent fabric sliding over naked skin, sweeter than the best chocolate, as intoxicating as the smoothest whisky. Rising from his seat he brought her closer, enjoying slide of her skin, tracing soft lines of her neck. Calloused fingers guided her to lay back down, boneless yet again, rendered speechless.

He resumed his original position, sitting on the chair, head buried between her thighs. This time she was perfectly attuned to his every stroke and kiss, moaning with him when he pushed in the right places, when his tongue slid slickly over her clit, when he thumbed her opening. Now, she was burning up, desperate need making her restless. Bane was strangely timid, obviously holding back for some reason.

Helena felt the constrictions building inside her, slowly into feverish inferno, impossible to satisfy without more stimulation.

Then she understood why he said earlier this was for him, not her.

“Please Tony,“ she whimpered, “please let me finish. Please make me come.”

Panting, he moved away, licking her essence off his lips with obvious gusto.

“In or out?”

That harsh tone he used, the hard edge to his stare, brought forward everything she remembered about Bane. But this time, she had to make herself consciously think of him not by his mercenary alias, but by the name he has taken as his. Dorrance the shy astrophysicist. Tony the quirky and faithful friend.

Standing at her feet like the conqueror that he was, fisting his cock in preparation to fuck her silly.

It was for him. She reminded herself.

“Out.”

He grinned and then laughed, throwing his head back. Slightly terrifying sight for Helena, braced with her head straining to stay steady, not knowing what he had planned for this answer. Then he gathered her close, sliding into her pussy without effort, and carried her towards the sofa.

There he pounded into her, a delightfully rough treatment just what she needed to get this much more aroused. His harsh grunts were mingling with her loud moans, heavy breaths chopped and uneven. She strained beneath him, arms over her head in an effort to steady herself on the armrest, brace for unrelenting impact of galloping thrusts.

“My name,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, taking his cock out, stroking it almost automatically.

“Fuck, Tony,” Helena complained, nothing in her head but the impending release that was snatched away.

“Full sentence please,” he mocked. He looked elated, on the very brink of orgasm himself.

“I changed my mind, I want you to finish inside,” she pleaded.

“A word is a word,” he teased. His head lowered over her pussy again, the soft skin there reddened and swollen. Again he gorged on her essence, relishing every sound she made, each feeble attempt to get more of his skin on top of her.

“Please Tony, get in, in, in, please, just put it back in.” She babbled, her previous poise forgotten.

He pressed two fingers inside her, fully aware it wouldn't be enough, even with his continuous assault on her clit.

“Fuck yes, just like that,” she encouraged, words escaping her in quick short bursts, along with too shallow breaths. She gulped down the air in between moans, thrashing on the pillows of the sofa in search of any kind of relief.

“More?” He asked.

“Yes!”

“Fingers?”

“Fuck you Tony,” she whined. “You know I want you to fuck me.”

Bane smiled at her phrasing, and kept up his mirth when he slid inside her again. This time he was taking greater risk teasing her like this. His cock swelled at the snug warmth around, at the feel of her nipples under his fingers and in his mouth. She gripped him in a desperate hold, not willing to let him part.

He felt her orgasm before she could voice her satisfaction, the ripples around his body transferring to him in a tidal wave of pleasure.

“Yes, Tony, fuck me just like that!”

He laughed at that, carelessly letting himself indulge into another time at her pussy, feeling under his lips the last tremors rocking her body. He was losing his head, enjoying how she cradled him closer, how she chanted his name, the steady prayer of ‘Tony, Tony, Tony’ ringing in his ears until he was continually moaning into her heat, the last instinct as he came to straighten up and mark her with his seed.

He contemplated the way his come splattered on her skin, tracing soft lines of her twitching belly and heaving chest with appreciation.

“That was intense,” she whispered.

Humming in agreement, he finally plopped on the cushions to let his overworked muscles wind down.

“I think I blacked out there for a moment,” Helena continued.

Bane smiled, pleasantly tired with exercise she put him through, more than a little pleased with himself.

“Shower?” He proposed mildly.

“I'd rather take a bath.”

“Not enough time,” he smirked. “We lost over half an hour.”

“Somehow I don't care about that anymore.”

He smiled triumphantly, content with his double win.

 

 

oOo

 

 

“Are you nervous?” Bane asked, palm sliding over Helena's waist. He pressed himself close while they scored through wooden path to the house; she wished her trench would be thick enough to hide delicate tremors bunching her muscles in regular intervals. Fat chance.

“Excited.” She grinned, a last-resort kind of a smile, strained and too toothy to look even remotely genuine.

“I thought they were friends.” Bane furrowed his brows. “We can still leave.”

“I’m fine.”

The door opened before they had a chance to ring the bell. At the entrance stood a very distinguished gentleman, neat mop of silver hair brushing slightly the upper beam of the doorframe. Helena smirked at Bane’s momentarily surprised face.

“Not the only freakishly tall person in the room for once. This will be fun,” he remarked.

“The sentiment is appreciated and reciprocated, Mr Ferguson.”

“Graham, please.”

“Tony,” Bane offered, shaking hands with the man.

“Hello Graham,” Helena quipped from behind Bane’s back. She didn't even flinch when Bane introduced himself, his earlier exercise in familiarizing her with the sound and use of his name a vivid reminder that she should stop using his alias altogether.

Their host sent a somewhat apologetic look towards Bane, and released his hand to embrace the scribe tightly.

“You neglected us for way too long.”

“Oh, I’m sure you weren’t lonely.”

“That’s beside the point, young lady.” He herded them over to the closet and took their coats. “To atone I’ll have you sitting by our star guest.”

“Not Alex!” Helena gasped looking at the host in the mirror. The stage whisper was calculated to sound both outraged and incredulous. Graham chuckled.

“And our charge, Magnus Bentsen, who is a theology student.”

“Message received. I’ll be visiting every week from now on.” She finished arranging her shawl, careful not to leave any part of her bruised throat visible to others. The marks were fading, but she wouldn’t dare putting makeup on them as the only disguise.

“I have a witness,” Graham looked over to the other man, who nodded solemnly, “so now you can’t back out of your promise.”

“Can’t you get selective amnesia?” she implored Bane.

“That would be very dishonourable.” While he said that, his eyes smothered down Helena's frame, appreciating tight fit of her backless dress. The plunging neckline was cut into broad ‘v' at the front and back, kept decent with long sleeves and the fact that she added flowing silk to cover her neck.

“A man after my own heart,” Graham noted, smiling at their banter. He gestured them over towards the sitting room. Grace welcomed them at the entrance a bit flustered with preparations, but very much pleased with their tokens of gratitude for the invitation; decorative challah wreath with red-dyed eggs and a simple bread from Bane, psalm calligraphed in style of Byzantine icons, adorned lavishly with gold leaf from Helena. And a fresh bunch of lily of the valley mixed with some lovely bluebells.

The sitting room was enormous, at least thirty square metres, and ceiling scaling up to the roof. The outer wall was littered with French windows leading to a terrace with magnificent view of the sea. Seating was plentiful, low furniture scattered around in clumps and groups providing zones for different groups of people if necessary. Here and there there were high and bushy tails of potted plants, yucca and ficus and some posh nameless ones Helena didn't bother to know. On the right were double doors leading to the dining room, closed shut still. On left, beside the fireplace, was Graham's study, and conveniently beside the entrance a cabinet full of alcohol and glasses.

Three guests were in already; a family of local police officer, his wife and daughter all huddled on a sofa near the centre.

Much to everyone's astonishment the man knew Bane.

“Doctor Dorrance, nice to see you again.”

“And you, officer Torp. Although under the circumstances I must insist you call me by my name.”

“Likewise. May I present to you my lovely wife Tirill and my daughter Anna, who we call Jack. Don’t ask why.” He stopped for a dramatic second. “I mean it. Don’t.”

“I wouldn't dare now,” Bane joked. Helena smirked behind him, sending a wink to both women who she knew anyway.

“An aperitif before we start?” Graham offered, taking their orders in stride. Helena requested a martini; she knew she'd get it very dry which was just the way she needed to get through the whole ordeal of a brunch. Whoever thought this was a good idea?

Bane was sticking to non-alcoholics since he was driving, but she saw him sneak to his bedroom before they went out, presumably for a last-moment puff of his ‘medicine.’

Next guests to come in were local doctor and his daughter; the same Sven who asked about Helena’s wellbeing prompting an impromptu visit from Grace. And the Anna who was responsible for spreading rumours about her new ‘friend’, a teacher and part-time receptionist at her father’s clinic.

They smiled pleasantly and talked about nothing in particular, and Helena drained her drink in record time. Ever attentive, Graham brought her a new one, under a watchful gaze from Bane who was unable to intervene, tied up close by the terrace with Jack’s questions on his cottages. Apparently she was an avid fan of the studio which designed them and wouldn’t let Bane go until he parted with every shred of information. He seemed to have a soft spot for inquisitive young women anyway, so he didn’t look too pained by the interrogation.

More guests arrived; a marriage of a writer and a researcher, Tom and Lucy Helpern, both young, withdrawn and dressed in black head to toe. Helena had no idea what their connection to the Fergusons was. Then a young man knocked shyly on the door - a mister Bentsen, the benjamin of the group as Graham called him, studying theology by the grant of the hosts. Immediately he was smitten with Helena, having seen and admired her work but had never before been able to meet her in person at the parties he was invited to. He gazed at her reverently and tried not to stutter too much talking about the weather.

“Ugh. Overcast again. At least we had some sun yesterday. That was so great.”

“Yes, absolutely,” she replied absentmindedly. “Magnus, was it?”

A benevolent smile resulted in sudden explosion of colour on his cheeks.

“I have prepared a little work for Grace, I think she won't have any qualms in showing it to you. Psalm sixteenth.”

“An exquisite choice.” The declaration was backed by undoubtedly more extensive biblical knowledge than Helena’s. She just googled which citation would be appropriate for the occasion. But he didn’t have to know that.

As if summoned, Grace came close chatting away with the doctor, arms linked and fond smiles on both their faces. Magnus lost no time in getting the hostess’ attention.

“Mrs Ferguson, I have an urgent request.”

He whisked her away before she had a chance to gather her wits for an evasive manoeuvre, still looking curiously over her shoulder at the doctor and the scribe.

They sipped their drinks watching pensively after the pair.

“Will she ever come back?” the man asked wistfully.

“Perhaps,” Helena mused. “If she kept my gift separate from other stuff I made for her.”  

Unlikely, both knew it just as well.

Sven didn’t inquire further; he grabbed Helena's arm, gently steering her towards a more secluded part of the room.

“Your newest friend looks interesting,” he commented.

“He is.”

“Not as much as the marks on your throat.”

That was to be expected. The man lived from his observational skills.

“Do they show much?”

“A bit.”

“I’ll rearrange the shawl then.” She tried to give an air of ennui while she turned her back to the room and fussed with the fabric, but it didn’t work on the man who could tell condition of her liver by her complexion.

“Was this voluntary on your part?” he asked.

“No. But it’s not… What one might think.” She finished lamely. It was exactly what one might think.

“Do you require assistance?”

Did she? A slow sip of martini was her only diversion and it wasn’t nearly enough time to think of a good diversion.

“Yes. Tony has to find a therapist.” It was best to be honest. “For what happened in Gotham. Can you refer him to the one you found for Nick?”

Niklaus, the ex-FSK guy, who she was still in contact with. Why didn’t she think to ask him about it?

Sven nodded, never stopping eyeing Bane from across the room.

“Is he really a physicist? He looks like a dangerous man.”

“He is an intelligent man,” Helena supplied.

To her it was just the way he looked - always had been like this. But she could see how threatening he could seem to other people. A wolf in sheep's clothing; scarred and muscular, tall and confident. At the same time unerringly kind and polite, sharply dressed in woollen three piece suit in light grey, crisp white shirt and moss green knitted tie. A walking contradiction in brown leather oxfords.

“An intelligent man who bears a lot of old scars is the epitome of danger,” Sven said sententiously, switching to measure Helena’s response for a few seconds.

She didn’t have appropriate retort to that.

“Lupus in fabula*,” the doctor murmured, raising his glass in a silent greeting when Bane approached.

They nodded respectfully, exchanging secretly calculating glances. Bane rested one hand at the small of Helena’s back, at once reassuring and possessive.

“I think you caught it already, but Sven here is my family physician.”

“Dorrance,” Bane said, making Helena raise her eyebrows in confusion. Why didn’t he offer his name like he did with others until now?

“Torstein,” Sven replied with a hint of superiority.

What was with these two, she thought.

“Sven was the one who sent me to the surgery. Saved my life.”

That deflated Bane a bit. The doctor however looked more smug than was appropriate given the topic of their conversation.

“All in a day's work.”

“I was just asking his advice on a matter that you might find interesting,” she continued. Bane's palm pressed slightly firmer into her back. “I think I’ll leave you two to work out the details, I just remembered I have to ask Tirill about her school's curriculum.”

She didn’t wait for them to try and stop her, and sauntered away, gulping down the rest of her drink as she went. That was a bit underhanded, she had to admit even before herself. Bane couldn’t follow her without making a fuss. He wouldn’t do that. Not yet.

The police officer’s wife sat with Graham, giggling and looking enormously pleased with herself.

“Oh, Helena come, I have a confession to make,” she waved her over with a laugh. “I was just telling Mr G I went into the dining room and switched the placing cards so that I could sit by your date.”

“Huh,” was all the scribe could say. Was there anything else to do beside raising her eyebrow and looking over to poor host sitting there in mortified silence?

“I know it's hardly appropriate. But I’ll have no way of snatching him away from Jack, and I need to ask him a favour.”

“Today?”

“Forge while the iron is hot,” she snickered.

How could anyone be mad at her when she’s so refreshingly honest, Helena thought.

Ten years her senior, which placed her nearly exactly at Bane’s age, Mrs Torp was a dedicated and much loved teacher and youth counselor. She knew how to talk with people, and she actually cared about what they were telling her about. In exchange, she never beat around the bush herself, for better and for worse.

They chit-chatted awhile, about movies and the weather, at one point left by Graham to investigate whereabouts of the missing two guests.

Good quarter of an hour after she left Bane with the physician, Helena turned finally to locate the two. Sven was in a hushed conversation with Grace again, the pair close together like best friends or lovers, Helena thought. Bane was standing alone at the window, back turned to the room, sipping his tea.

She excused herself and beelined towards him, hiding behind tall plants whenever anyone seemed interested in stalling her progress. She slithered her hand in the crook of his elbow, thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the inside of his arm.

“Are you good?”

She watched intently for any sign of discomfort or displeasure, but apart from his conversation with the doctor, Bane was perfectly composed.

“I’m well.”

“To be honest I didn’t think this type of gathering would be a comfortable place for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I suspect you didn’t do social calls in your previous line of occupation.”

He grunted dismissively, an amused smirk twisting slightly his marred lips. Helena had to hide her surprise when he decided to indulge her curiosity and leaned down with an explanation whispered huskily into her ear.

“I only ever read about parties like this, or watched them from the shadows. To be finally a part of one, as an equal among other guests… I’m thrilled. It’s like living inside of an Agatha Christie novel.”

Lull in general conversation had Helena’s laugh reverberate musically through the room, drawing curious and amused glances their way.

“And who would you be? Poirot? Shall I call you Hercules?” The attempt at French accent was bad, but it did succeed in making Bane grin.

The entrance door opened and shut with a loud bang, turning all eyes towards darkened corridor. Helena felt Bane tense beside her, turning discreetly so that he shielded her with his body. Slow and drawn out thumping steps echoed off the walls, tension building with each second. Deep and pleasant baritone rumbled from behind a dark fedora, precariously kept secured on the head of the mysterious figure with a gloved hand, shielding their face as well.

“All the world‘s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.** And this man, ladies and gentlemen,” the stranger stepped forward into full light and bowed deeply to the room, “just landed a lead role in ‘Macbeth’!”

“Jesus fuck, Alex!” Jack complained.

“Anna Torp, behave please like an adult not an adolescent,” Anna chided.

“I apologize.” The younger woman swallowed her pride in an admirable show of magnanimity towards her former teacher.

Meanwhile congratulations poured from other guests, along with some teasing remarks and playful insults. Introductions were made and in truly grand fashion the thespian was revealed to be the last guest to attend the brunch. As Graham explained, local judge was meant to be there, but she was delayed by a personal matter. Since they lost enough time waiting, pushing their scheduled start a quarter of an hour late, Grace stepped forward immediately, clearing her throat dramatically to grab everyone's attention.

“I am sure we all read some murder mystery novel at one time or another, be it a classic like Christie, or something more contemporary, modern and grim. At any rate, I think we’re all familiar with how these things play out. So I want you to enjoy our food and time together, but remember - the murderer is lurking amongst us! The doors are sealed and the deed will happen with everyone in the room.” She chuckled and looked around to measure response of her guests. Graham did a little clapping motion, but nearly soundlessly, supporting her at her flank. Barely anyone else responded with something more energetic than a flash of a smile. “Well, let’s not be idle. The brunch is served.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lupus in fabula [lat.] “Speak of the devil” :D *wink, wink*
> 
> **William Shakespeare, “As You Like It” [Act 2, Scene 7]


	5. The Rot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fruit is sliced to be consumed but it turns out to be rotten, as poison spreads through the land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me. :)   
> So, there will be one more short chapter in Sculptor before we move on. This series have some serious plot going on! If you're interested I'm posting snaps on my tumblr (@ilovehighhats), so be sure to check it out.  
> I hope you will enjoy the chapter. :)  
> R&R!

Dining room was bright and welcoming, prepared to receive them with every available surface overflowing with food and flowers. At the centre was a monstrous table set for fourteen people, decorated with low bouquets of spring greenery, in the very middle adorned with Helena's lily of the valley arrangement tucked inside Bane’s brioche wreath. The white of bell-like heads contrasted nicely with red eggs peeking from the golden crust, emerald green leaves shielded from touching the pastry by a simple yellow cloth.

The plane of the table was covered with an impeccably white linen, bone coloured china on top of it harmonizing with pale yellow of the napkins. Cutlery shone with gleam hinting at thorough polishing, as did the glasses arranged in a symmetrical pattern. 

Various cold dishes were scattered throughout the length of the wood, enabling everyone equal access to every delectable bite. Small baskets full of fluffy wheat rolls and dark, dense rye bread stood paired with coquilles filled with creamy butter. Blue bowls full of simple potato salad flanked silver plates of cold meats, surrounded in turn with small dishes full of sauces and garnishes. Glass troughs full of boiled eggs hovered over long ashets filled with salmon rolled over asparagus, ham with horseradish cream, trout covering golden beets and devilled eggs full of caviar. Boats with  eggerøre, a dish of eggs and chives cooked over steam, stood at attention by every seat.

On the side, long chest housed a stainless steel bain-marie, keeping warm sausages of three different kinds and croquettes of egg and mushroom, accompanied by bowls of fresh salads and an assortment of drinks framed with mounds of oranges. A column of fresh plates and a basket waiting for used dishes was at the ready hidden behind an impressive bouquet of peonies. Their round heads in delicate pink were fragile and ephemeral as if assembled with the finest silk. 

“This looks absolutely fabulous!” Alex exclaimed, stopping at the entrance.

Grace beamed up at him pleased with the praise, soaking in compliments from other guests who immediately followed the actor’s lead. A little bit of snooping, peering curiously at the nametags by the plates, and soon everyone found their seat.

Hosts were each at the short ends of the table. On Grace's right was the doctor, then Jack, alongside her Bane, and Tirill, Tom, then Anna on Graham’s left, thanks to last minute scheme of the counsellor. On the right side of the host was an empty seat, then Alex, Helena, Magnus, Lucy and the police officer, Knut, just on Grace’s left side.

Graham was the last to enter the dining room, after he ensured some low and soothing music was playing subtly in the background. 

“Grace, is Fatty here?” Tirill asked unfolding her napkin.

“Oh no, she helped me with preparations but I gave her a few days off.”

“She’s not celebrating Easter though, is she?”

“No of course not, only we infidels do,” the hostess snorted, reaching out for a basket of bread, giving everyone a signal to start their meal. 

Graham strolled clockwise around the table, filling wine glasses with some chilled Riesling. 

“Excuse me, but do I understand correctly, you call your helper a fatty?” Magnus questioned.

Explanation from Grace was somewhat offhanded.

“It’s an inside joke she started. She is thin as a rail, but always complains her husband wants to put some meat on her bones.”

“Without much success,” Anna added.

“I swear she could be a model, if not for her nose,” mused Tirill, shaking her head over her salmon. “The original and eccentric look seems to be in season lately, so who knows. Maybe the nose is not the obstacle.”

“I’m still surprised you called us all infidels, Mrs Ferguson. That’s very unchristian of you to describe anyone in this way,” the theologian in training complained.

“It is true, though. The name depends on viewpoint, and Fatima never pretended she sees us all in any other way,” Helena interjected. 

“But you made her change her attitude with that Jesus talk.” Tirill again, smiling across the table from her spot on Bane’s right.

“What Jesus talk?” Obviously, Magnus seemed keenly interested in that facet of the conversation.

“I convinced her that people believing in prophet Isa are only a step away from believing also in Muhammad.”

“Does she know you don’t believe in either?” Graham threw in with a smirk from his end of the table.

“Shh, don’t rat me out. I have some very unpleasant memories with judgy religious people; I’m inclined more to soothing tempers, not inflaring them. Especially since I hear Fatima’s husband may have a calligrapher uncle.” She grinned at Bane, sure he remembered the remarks his men used to made at her loose conduct back in Armenia. No one but them needed to know, though.

He sent her a timid smirk and passed the butter to Jack, who couldn’t stop talking to him.

“Have you seen Islamic calligraphy?” Helena continued, “It’s divine! People here tend thinking it's a lost skill, preserved only in museums, but in reality it’s flourishing in languages we don’t usually concern ourselves with. The whole of Asia is still very much practicing the art of writing.”

“You think of branching out?”

“Oh no, I’ll stick to perfecting what I already know. But it's good to grab some inspiration and maybe steal some techniques here and there.”

“I have a question.” Tom the writer, silent so far and observing more than participating, decided to add to the conversation. “Have any of you ever stole anything?”

“I used to nick a candy every time I went into Mr Walter’s store, back in third grade I think. Then he caught me red-handed and I had to work for him all summer. He paid me in Astro Pops. I used to lick them to a shank, while riding a bike.”

“Those are lollipops, right?” Knut asked leaning slightly over his plate. He was sitting beside Grace, at the opposite end of the table from the host.

“Oh yes. Forgive me, it’ so easy to forget we have different backgrounds.”

“I used to pilfer my neighbour’s orchard,” Tirill confessed. “We were raiding it like pests, a whole bunch of neighbouring kids eating all plums, and apples, and sour cherries. I think he left them unfenced because we were too cute to bear. Save for me, I used to look like a rat then.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t so,” Grace argued.

“Were you part of that too, Dad?” Jack asked, for a moment giving Bane reprieve from the relentless questioning to sip some water. He smiled at Helena over his wreath. 

For a moment they felt like the only people at the table, connected in a way even distance and space couldn’t hinder.

“Oh yes,” the policeman smiled broadly, continuing the chat, “and she didn’t even mention the insane amount of trespassing we did back then.”

“And all those illegal bonfires.”

“Did you sell berries by the road without paying taxes too?”

“Guilty as charged!”

Everybody laughed.

“I think we have some sausages on the side? Would anyone want a helping?” Anna asked, rising from her seat.

“I’d like one,” Knut raised his hand.

“Is anyone superstitious?”

The excited question was from Alex. He said it in a way that made everyone still their hands, for a moment pausing clinking of cutlery and idle chatter.

“Maybe, why?” Tom inquired.

“No one mentioned that, but we have thirteen people at the table. Do you know what that means?”

“Something bad will happen to the one who leaves first!” Jack gasped.

“I didn’t leave the room, I just went here,” Anna observed, nonplussed. She shot a quick glance towards Graham.

It was her father who saved her from furthering the subject.

“Well, I think it’s indelicate to speak of superstition in the presence of a cleric and two scientists.” The remark seemed biting, but it succeeded in diverting everyone's attention. Magnus blushed, mumbling that he was still far off from his ordination, while Bane stoically munched on devilled eggs.

“That’s right, we have another scholar among us.” Tirill seemed excited the conversation turned to Bane. “Tony, what made you pursue your field of science?”

“I liked stars and comets when I was a child. Saw the Halley’s in ‘86.”

“So, where are you from, Tony?” Lucy asked.

Helena didn’t remember Bane giving her permission to call him by his given name. She leant back in her chair to glance the researcher’s way behind Magnus’ back. Lucy didn’t notice, but the man in question did.

“Hong Kong,” he answered with a mischievous smile.

Most of the people at the table laughed. 

“Does that mean you're British?” Graham inquired, silencing everyone with his low pleasant tone. Interested. 

“Indeed.”

“Oh, I didn't realize that Hong Kong was British,” Lucy admitted.

“Handed back over to Chinese government in 1997, but ever since it has been very independent, an autonomous territory with its own rules.” 

“What were you doing there?”

“What most young people do. Studying, getting my first job, and my first degree.”

“In physics?”

“No, my first interest was history.“

“How unexpected. So what were you doing for your first job?”

“I was working on archaeological sites in continental Asia.”

“How many degrees do you have?” Grace inquired, leaning over the table towards him.

“I assume you mean the fields, not actual number of my titles?” His smile was charm itself, accompanied by slight lean towards the woman. “Three. Masters in Classical Antiquity, where I was focusing on Europe's influence in and over Southeast Asia, then Bachelor of Classical Languages and finally a doctorate in astrophysics.”

“That's very eclectic.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

All eyes turned to Helena, who asked the last question, scrutinizing Bane from across the table. He returned her stare with a smirk.

“Fluently? Only around ten.”

She snorted in her wine, sure that if he admitted to knowing ten, he most probably knew at least double that number. And what did he mean by ‘fluently’?

“I wish I spoke anything but English like a native. Can't get the intonation right in Norwegian, and my Spanish is just ghastly.” Lucy interjected, but no one but Bane seemed interested.

“Shadowing might be a good way for you to practice...”

The conversation fragmented again, guests returning to their plates and immediate neighbours in favour of idle chatter. 

Brunch had fell into a lull for a while, people coming to the buffet and back, strolling around to talk with friends sitting too far while filling up their drinks, until Knut decided to show off his recently acquired knowledge, courtesy of the Wikipedia.

“Did you know that Plato was in fact an accomplished wrestler? He took part in the Olympics and won three times.”

Helena caught the information mid-sentence, immediately stopping her conversation with Alex. She gasped, turning starry eyed to Bane. Conveniently, he was keeping an eye on her, even though he appeared to listen attentively to Tirill.

He sent Helena a wary look.

“What?” The police officer asked, disoriented with the shift of attention.

“Is it true?” Helena asked breathlessly. 

Cautiously, Bane nodded, weighing his words.

“There is a source alluding to this. It is true that he was a sportsman, as many youths of good families were encouraged to be at the time.“

“Oh, is that so?”

“There is something I'm missing here,” Graham complained. 

“Helena had an idea lately to find me a nickname,” Bane admitted begrudgingly. 

Tirill clapped excitedly. 

“Let's think about it!”

“I'd rather not.”

“Don't be a spoilsport,” Grace interjected with a wink.

He visibly refrained from rising to her taunt.

“You could be seen as Plato,” Tom mused, “but I think his philosophy is too emotional for a scientist oriented on facts. How about Euclides?“

“From Alexandria or Megara?“

“There were two of them?”

“I have one!“ Magnus smiled shyly, curiously peeking at the scribe more than at Bane. “Menelaus.”

“Who's that?” Jack laughed. “Sounds like a skin disease.”

“It was the husband of Helen of Troy. Who originally lived in Sparta, and returned there after ten years long war.”

“Wasn't that the guy who strangled his lady?” Sven threw in, observing Helena's reaction.

“No that was Othello.“ Ever helpful in drama related topics Alex supplied. 

“Of course it was.”

The scribe threw a warning glance to the doctor, noting Bane’s concerned frown. Just great.

“How about Hubble. Because of, you know, the size?” Came from the corner of the table.

“Anna!” Helena scolded openly.

“Coincidentally, Edwin Hubble was quite the athlete.” Bane arched one brow at his date, more amused than anything at the implication. 

She snickered.

“Who was Edwin Hubble? Are we talking about the telescope still?“ Jack looked around for some explanation.

“Children, the name of the object had to at first belong to a man, to be used as a commemoration of his accomplishments.” Graham's tired voice barely carried over next propositions. 

“Copernicus?”

“Cadmus, perhaps?”

“Bacon!”

“I'd say brownie.”

“No, sir Francis Bacon, you fool.”

Helena hid her eyes behind her palm, trying to control her laughing.

“Newton”

“Like in fig newtons? “

“Chiron, “

“Kant.”

“McQueen “

“Mr Beefcake.”

“Like rock Hudson?”

“What, the Rock?”

“No that's Dwayne Johnson”

“I'm confused.“ Alex admitted. “Don't even know most of those people.”

“We could always just wait for something to pop up naturally. I'm sure we will be granted Dr Dorrance's visits again, provided you won't scare him off with your chatter.” Graham cut the thread with a commanding but quite fatherly gaze around the table.

“You will come again, right?” Jack looked immediately to Bane, concerned with his reaction.

“I'm not easily frightened, little one,” he smiled down at her. He carried himself with admirable dignity through the ordeal, even though Helena practically lied on the table doubled with mirth. 

The meal was slowly finishing, plates emptied and scattered to the basket out of sight, conversation rising and dying in short bursts.

Anna declaimed over the necessity of early detection of health threats, droning on without much care for anyone's interest or attention. Beside her, Graham was unusually quiet, perhaps musing over some of her points. Helena watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to decipher what was off about him, but unable to put her finger on it. On the other side of the teacher, Tom was not so covertly rolling his eyes, stuffing himself with potato salad. 

Heavy sigh on her left got her attention and she shared an understanding nod with Magnus. 

He seemed to take it as an encouragement, steeling himself briefly before interrupting Anna’s monologue. 

“Surely there are limits to what can we learn with tests and measurements. Sometimes the disease is hiding in a way that makes it impossible to detect. We should all get together with our loved ones as often as we can, prepare our hearts for meeting the Lord, and not worry too much about when exactly that day would come.”

“So you say it's pointless to have check-ups?” Anna frowned, swirling her wineglass in dangerously wide circles.

“If something happens to you, well, what can you do? God's plan.”

“If I was following that reasoning I wouldn't sit here now. By your standards I'm living on borrowed time. By mine, I've dealt with a problem and moved on. But perhaps,” Helena smiled coyly towards Magnus, “just perhaps, I am a wrench in God's plan and someone somewhere is suffering terribly in my stead.”

Poor boy looked appalled. Shame he didn't realize her diversion was a ploy to shut the teacher up.

“That's medieval thinking. God's plan was to put a good doctor in your path, and give you a happy life.”

“That's so charming.” A genuine smile put him at ease and pause in conversation brought the attention to her. Just as planned. “And I thought recently, I should give back to the community which so generously welcomed me into its ranks.“

“Tell me you mean what I think you mean,“ Tirill grinned. 

“I think I'm finally ready to take up on your offer,” she nodded at Tirill and Anna.

“Is this your doing, Tony? If so, you have my thanks. We all have been trying to convince Helena for almost as long as she lived here.” Graham added animatedly, no doubt relieved with timely rescue of conversation with some genuinely interesting information.

“I must confess I'm in the dark.” Bane didn't seem too fazed by it. 

“No you're not. I told you I should get a job. “

“Indeed, you mentioned. My bad. Does that mean you've been declined for years and still persisted?” He asked Tirill. 

“I'm sure you know yourself how important it is to preserve appreciation towards beauty and respect toward craftsmanship. I never gave up hope Helena would be convinced to take some youngsters under her wings.”

“Admirable dedication.“ Not many people could say it without sounding condescending, but somehow he managed to pack the right amount of respect in his tone. 

“Well, I think when it comes to patience I have a fair opponent,” she winked at Bane, then sent a sly smile to the scribe. 

Maybe she knew a tad too much about their situation.

“I have no patience towards children,” Helena explained. “But I do hope to intimidate them into listening to me. I've been practicing.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Can always try to scare them with some outlandish story of monsters coming their way if lines on their practice sheets won't be straight enough.”

“No one will be scared of that in the age of computer games and terrorists besieging whole cities.” Lucy threw in. 

“Kids these days still believe in trolls and troggs,” Tirill argued. “They do. We have been hearing lately some outlandish stories, as Helena said, even from older teens. About a troll that took his residence in the forest north from here. They say he runs around carrying trees which he tackled out of the ground. After he's done thousand push ups he does thousand pull ups on one of the branches of the tree, the one he wants to carry of course. And he does crunches way above ground, holding onto the tree with his legs. And then he invades ponds and carries that tree around in circles.“

“Why would he carry a tree around?” Tom wondered.

“No one knows.”

“Sounds like a bodybuilder more than a troll.” Their hostess cut in. “You'd know.” Grace was looking away but no one had any doubt to whom the sentence was addressed to.

Again, all eyes turned to Bane.

“I had a moment where I did similar things. Now I have my pilates.”

“Too old?” Magnus asked, tips of his ears reddening almost instantly after he realized how rude the question was.

“Too tired.” Bane nodded, dispelling the air of gaffe with his honesty.

“Tony was a riot in our last class,” Grace joked, getting up to bring another helping of salad and bread. “The instructor nearly fainted when he came in.”

“Oh, I bet.“ Anna murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Sorry,” she threw quieter to Helena across the table.

“It's okay, I like to look at him too.”

“Aren't the scars, how shall I put it, distracting?” Alex asked leaning to whisper it dramatically in her ear, but he seemed interested more than judgemental. And didn’t lower his voice all that much.

She smiled with a twinge of sourness.

“I'm fine with them.”

Out of nowhere Grace appeared behind them, pretending to fuss over the arrangement of plates on the table. It was a bit off admittedly, since the judge didn’t show.

“We didn't see too many, he was pretty well covered. But I did have a chance to glance at his back and torso once, and it's certainly a fascinating sight.” 

The confession made Alex and Anna giggle, while Helena, Tom and Graham exchanged pained looks. 

“What? When?” Anna seemed intrigued, and conveniently overlooked a glare from the scribe.

“Please stop,” she threw in over rim of her glass, taking a big swig of water.

“I walked in on him in an inopportune moment.” Her expression didn’t left to the imagination the fact that she was absolutely delighted by the experience.

“You mean opportune,” Helena interjected.

“Whatever we call it; it shows that he lived an eventful life.” She winked at Helena, mercifully omitting details of the scene she witnessed. The younger woman silently nodded in thanks.

“Let's ask him about it,” Alex proposed. He was gleeful with the reactions around him, and was set on squeezing every bit of juicy rumour he could get. “Mr Dorrance, if you please?” he called out across the table.

Bane turned to him, slowly and steadily with the slightest edge. His eyes measured the distance between actor and the scribe in an instant; a bit too close since Grace was still leaning over the man's left side.

“We were wondering what you were doing after you finished your first job.”

“I was an apprentice of an antiques dealer.”

“An apprentice,“ Grace said with a meaningful swipe over his scars.

“It's a cutthroat environment,“ he explained, unwavering stare on Alex.

“Oh which one isn't.” The doctor boomed from his corner of the table, no doubt miffed with lack of attention from the hostess. “I remember back in my intern year, everyone wanted to work for that one star surgeon. We did anything to get on his flock of admirers, and that were some most volatile months I've lived through. This,” he showed them a big scar peeking from under his shirtsleeve, “is a remnant from a fight over who gets to remove a catheter from patients artery.”

“You never told me about it before,” Anna laughed, exchanging a quick look with Graham.

“I've lived,“ he boasted, electing light chuckles from everyone. 

“And may we all live to tell exciting stories to our dearest,” Graham closed the conversation with a smile and slight rising of his glass. “I think it's time for digestif and perhaps a bite of dessert. Let's go back to the living room.“

Grace agreed and led them all, leaving behind her scraping of chairs and animated conversations, the salad and bread all but forgotten. Graham poured generous helpings of whisky to whomever declared the need for a glass, and the group split into two and three person circles, chatting. Helena went out on the terrace, and she winked at Bane over a cigarette lit gallantly by Alex. The scientist smiled, seemingly at ease but internally straining to go to her, unable at the moment since he was trapped by a story of the young architecture student and her unwavering enthusiasm towards modern designers. 

Grace brought out trays of miniature desserts, arranged masterfully to showcase each piece’s best spots. Mini tartelettes piled high with fruit were surrounded by an army of understated chocolate mousse cups, garnished only with very tips of lemon balm. Golden discs of puff pastry filled with variety of jams were sitting in neat rows, along with plain squares of shortbread, simply sprinkled with large crystals of sugar. There were creamy desserts in tiny chalices, panna cotta and tiramisu, and a heaping platter of cut fruit. Last, but much needed if judging by cheers of some guests, was a plate filled with grapes and cheese, followed by a basket of Bane’s bread cut to small pieces. 

When smokers came back from the terrace and settled on armchairs and sofas, and the rug by the fireplace, everyone stocked up on their drinks and munchies of choice, Grace came out to the middle.

“It is time for our murder mystery,“ she intoned, spreading her hands elegantly in a welcoming gesture.

Her response was a chorus of groans.

“No, don't be like that. It's going to be excellent fun.” 

She produced a folder with margins swarming in sticky notes, ruffled and colourful like feathers of a parrot. “One of you have been told to place an object, so that another person would consume it. So, did any of you find an unexpected grape in their brunch?”

Anna groaned. 

“I had one in my salad. I thought it was supposed to be there?”

“There were no dishes with grapes in them, save for the wine,” Graham offered.

“So, I’m the body?” Anna made sure. “Oh, fu-” She caught her thought just in time to change it to a very sarcastic “fantastic.”

“So how does this work?” Lucy asked. She barely took part in earlier conversation and seemed obviously bored; her blasé air evaporating long time ago and leaving only a slight stank of apathy.

“Well, we have to ask each other questions to find out whodunnit’!” Grace offered excitedly.

“Who killed Anna?” Knut threw loudly, but no one took his question seriously. 

“Now, let me just divide you into two groups.” Grace consulted the notebook. “One will be suspects and the other sleuths.”

“Shouldn't we have done that before the lunch?”

“What if one of sleuths is the killer?”

“What group will you and Graham be?”

“Calm down, I'm getting to that.”

Helena smiled, sipping her drink, letting the alcohol cut over decadent richness of the chocolate mousse cup. It was fantastic and she thought briefly of getting the recipe for it. Bane had been cooking a lot lately and everything looked and tasted like creations from a Michelin starred chef. The effortless masterfulness he conducted himself with in the kitchen was enviable. She knew it was a remnant of his earlier occupation, his every move perfectly planned, if necessary even rehearsed to conduct business to the highest standard and execute every task with utmost precision. Even if it was only making bread or cutting a steak. On top of that he had a spark of eagerness bordering on giddiness, an excitement over being able to cook without any hindrance of time, ingredients, or a mask restricting smell and taste. 

Infuriating, how good he was with everything he touched. Helena wanted to make him see how that felt, the awe mixed with slight inferiority, when she'd be the one to nonchalantly whip up a treat.

She observed him from across the room, enjoying his relaxed sprawl during an unhurried conversation, the keen interest with which he listened to Jack, the obvious amusement over Grace’s chaotic explanations. He probably knew who the culprit was already, and even if he didn't, it would be a matter of minutes before he figured it out, Helena thought fondly. Without a doubt he was the most intelligent man in the room. 

The most dangerous, too.

“So now, listen please,” Grace called, after clearing up some details with her husband. “As the hosts are privy to the identity of our mysterious killer we are exempt from playing. Anna is our victim... Where is she?”

“She went away to settle her cough,” Sven supplied. 

“Well, alright. That leaves ten people. Three will be detectives, the rest will be suspects. Remember that the killer could be any of you. Now for the rules-” She stopped mid-sentence.

Anna emerged from the corridor, her entrance announced with sound of laboured coughing, her breath wheezing. She tried to tell them something. 

“I ca-, I can't…” 

“Jack. Get her purse from the lobby, it’s the red one,” Sven ordered, running towards his daughter. He helped her to the nearest sofa, the one where Bane sat with the student, vacated hurriedly by both. 

Helena watched with everybody, as the doctor tried to establish what was happening. 

“You're itchy? Where? How long does it last? I'm with you, you know there is nothing to be nervous about. Where is Jack?” He turned to the room, concern clear in his eyes.

“Anaphylaxis?” Bane asked.

“Yes. She has Epipen in her purse.” He turned to Graham. “Call the ambulance.”

Right when he was saying that, Jack emerged from the corridor with her bounty. 

“I've got it!”

With practiced movement Sven fished out the cylindrical device, then jammed it in Anna's thigh. He watched her like a hawk, not even taking his eyes off her when he discarded the spent shell of epinephrine. She settled a bit, drawing seemingly deeper breaths, a bit less frantic and even smiling shyly. 

It didn't seem to work.

She wheezed shortly after getting the drug, clawing at her father's suit, eyes wide with incomprehension. 

“I don't understand, it should have helped immediately.” 

He was shell-shocked, shaking his head and inspecting Anna’s pupils and pulse.

“It’s expired.” Bane supplied, inspecting the pen. “Six months.”

“Even so.” The doctor shook his head. 

Bane moved closer. Sven lay Anna down on her back, tipping her head to ease her breathing.

“How long until the ambulance arrives?”

“Ten minutes,“ Graham reported.

“Does she carry a spare?” Bane inquired.

“I don't think so, you check her purse. Grace, do you have epinephrine?“

“No, we never needed it before.”

Cursing under his breath the doctor frowned, monitoring deteriorating state of his daughter. Meanwhile, Bane switched to stand by the hostess, asking her something in a hushed voice. Helena slid closer, as did Graham.

“I'm not sure,” Grace was saying, then she turned to her husband, clutching onto his forearm. “Dear, do we have an AED?“

He nodded patting her hand reassuringly, communicating something wordlessly to Bane. 

“Yes in the car, I'll go get it...  Just in case.”

Other guests were huddled in groups, unerringly staring at the pair occupying the sofa.

Anna started wheezing terribly, an awful strained and gurgling sound. Her hands flailed, weakly hooking on her father's suit, trying to find purchase, to ground herself in her panic.

“To the floor,” Bane ordered. He moved to the doctor so fast some people gasped, but he didn't care, focused on gently transferring Anna down. 

Her chest raised quickly in shallow panicked conclusions. She was suffocating.

Then, it all stopped.

“Don't do this to me, fight!” Sven ordered, lapsing back to his native Norwegian, his voice breaking, full of sorrow. 

Bane bent down, his ear by Anna’s mouth, face turned toward her chest. 

“Ten seconds not breathing, CPR,” he noted, already putting his hands on her sternum and starting a fast, powerful rhythm to keep her brain oxygenated. 

Steps thudded in the corridor. Graham came back with a black bag, jogging to the place where Bane was still working on keeping Anna on the brink of life. Sven snatched the AED as soon as the host neared them, violently tearing open the attached medkit, looking for scissors.

“Keep your composure,” Bane ordered. 

Surprisingly, the doctor nodded, and with a deep breath set to work on cutting Anna’s clothes. For a brief moment Bane had to stop massaging her heart, so he immediately switched to turn the AED on. 

A pleasant female voice instructed them to contact the emergency number. 

“How much time passed?” Sven asked Graham.

“Since the call? Two minutes.”

The voice continued, saying they needed to attach the electrodes. 

Anna’s chest was stripped naked, so Bane set on immediately to attach the device, giving one pad to the doctor. The machine beeped after a short while and the most terrifying message played out loud in the terrified silence of the room. 

“No heart rhythm detected. Shock advised.”

“Clear,” Sven’s and Bane's voice boomed in unison, and the scientist pressed the button. 

Rush of electricity coursed visibly through Anna’s body, contorting her muscles like a life-sized puppet in a B-grade horror movie.

But this was real.

“No heart rhythm detected. CPR one minute.”

The machine beeped the pace, immediately picked up by Bane. 

“Graham go outside, bring the emergency crew in as soon as possible,” Sven ordered, drawing impossible strength to stay as collected as possible. His child was dying before his very eyes, and there was nothing he could do, save for what the stranger before him was already helping with, his expertise startling. Anna’s ribs crunched audibly, her body limp under Bane's hands, like a terrifyingly unresponsive doll insensitive to the worldly stimuli. 

Prompts from the device repeated the same pattern twice, shock and a minute of massage. The second time around Sven changed Bane, with a pained, shocked expression on his face. The scientist sat back on his haunches, eyes never leaving the woman before him.

Then, they all gasped in relief when the AED announced: 

“Heart rhythm detected. Observe the patient. Next evaluation in two minutes.”

The breathing was faint, and Anna didn't regain consciousness. 

When the EMT team arrived, Bane straightened and strolled over to Helena, gathering her to his chest, kissing top of her head with a sigh. 

Only then she felt the trembling in her limbs. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dying to know what you think. :)
> 
> Also, question time!
> 
> Is any of you lovely readers from Upper Michigan?
> 
> I need some questions answered for a project. Project involving Bane.  
> Ping me here, or on my Twitter or Tumblr!


	6. The Stigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sculptor, or shaping the future one day at a time.
> 
> In which stigma is exposed, exploited and expanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that "stigma" is actually the name of one part of a plant?
> 
> As always, many thanks to ThreeDots, who wastes so much of her time on me. :)

How many times does one have  the opportunity to see a person dying? In a whole lifetime that could easily be zero, at least nowadays with ambulances whisking patients away; with anonymity damning old and suffering to a solitary, quiet death in solace of their dwellings. To be a part of a terrible, unexpected and frantic scene, to see with one's own eyes the struggle to preserve life was a shocking reality.

Helena counted the times she witnessed death. There was the boy Bane pummelled during that ritualistic scuffle back in Armenia. She remembered vividly how she felt then, how sickened she was with the instinctive surge of pride at the mercenary’s victory.

Then there was the corpse of the guard who let her escape. Not technically falling under death, but his execution was swift and noiseless, and incredibly fast. One minute he was being escorted towards the Chapel, dragging his feet and using every opportunity to lengthen his time under the rainy sky, and the next his body was being hauled out unceremoniously. Spent shell, no longer needed, no longer useful. Was there any pride to be spared though, for the dying? Was it possible to retain one’s dignity at least?

Do not go gentle into that good night…

Anna clawed at her throat and gasped, desperate for the tiniest gulp of air. But then she was just a shell, kept at the brink of life, useless, a burden if anything at all.

Can one really come to terms with people dying before their very eyes?

The memory of the whole brunch was tainted now, as was the mood of all who attended. Helena wondered briefly if others watched how she behaved, if they were surprised by Bane's bearing, if they wondered themselves about this whole situation…

It was surreal.

Merely half an hour later, she was sitting on the sofa in Bane’s cottage, sipping her ‘sleep-well’ tea. He refused to let her be alone at her place and she didn’t really feel like arguing about it; were it possible she would love to go to bed with him, bury into the covers and the solid mass of his warm body and wash away all the tension and unhealthy excitement of the last hour. For the time being, they had to make do with sleeping in separate rooms. So instead of cuddling up, she watched him pace as he talked with Graham on the phone, calm and concise and commanding. If anything should happen to her, Bane would be the first to react. He knew what to do and he had a baffling amount of experience on his hands, along with monumental restraint.

Would he retain his control, though, if it  was her suffocating instead of Anna?

Her mind shot to the last night they shared the bed. No calmness then, but tons of repressed instincts and reflexes, little involuntary jerks of his body, like he had to have himself under constant check. Almost perfect governance over what he did, always. Maybe that’s why every lapse felt like such a failure.

Chugging the remainder of her tea she got up and left the mug on the kitchen counter, smiling mischievously when Bane shot her an annoyed glare and went after her to put the beaker into the dishwasher, never stopping his conversation.

She showered briefly to get rid of the grime of the day, waiting for the tub to fill with warm water, frothy with a combination of salts and some fragrant oils she poured in with gusto. Bane came in just when she rummaged through the cupboards, clad only in her bath towel, looking for candles.

“Need assistance?”

“I’m good. Hop on into the shower and then consider yourself invited into my bath.”

“Do you think the tub is big enough for us both?” He taunted.

“We’ll see. At least this one doesn’t look like it would topple over…”

“That depends on what we choose to do inside there.”

“Shower,” she growled, shaking her head with a smile.

Watching him clean himself from the comfortable warmth of the bath was making her sluggish. He was separated from her with a clear pane of glass matted with steam, a blur of flesh-coloured movement, dotted with streaks of white. How would he look up close covered in foam? She smiled and leaned back. How many nights had she spent like this, imagining him, or pretending that the body on the other side of the partition was Bane instead of some beefcake she picked up? All those times she asked to be on her knees, facing away and kidding herself that was enough to believe that the man behind her was Bane, that it was him holding her in her bed, or in some hotel, or in an unfamiliar apartment.

A slow hum brought her thoughts back to the present. There he was, in the flesh, skin glistening with moisture, reflecting light off of powerful muscles marred by scars. A map of an eventful life. Sven said an intelligent man with this many marks, this old, had to be dangerous.

She felt safe now, safer than ever before.

“What were you talking about with Graham?”

“Some details of what happened tonight, what could happen tomorrow.”

“You needed half an hour to get that Anna had an anaphylaxis shock?”

“I conferred with our charming policeman, too. He had some interesting observations.”

Helena frowned, sitting up straight, bringing her knees close to her chest.

“Didn't she have an allergic reaction?”

“Perhaps she had.”

Her previous light-heartedness vanished briefly.

“What other options are there?” She frowned, murmuring to herself.

“Let's not talk about it tonight,” Bane proposed. “I'd rather enjoy a tub that can fit us both. Finally.”

“Yeah, at long last,” Helena chuckled.

Bane sighed when he got into the tub, immediately relaxing into the warmth of the water. A snicker on his side and he sneaked his feet behind Helena's back, effectively trapping her before him.

The temptation of sliding her hands on his skin was too big and she gladly gave in, leaning back, looking at him with half lidded eyes. Her gaze stayed steady when she pushed with her feet slightly on his chest. The scars there looked older than they actually were. Was it Venom’s miraculous effect or something else?

“Let's plant the herbs tomorrow. “

“Sure.” Pads of her fingers slid effortlessly under the water, feeling the coarse texture of hair on Bane’s legs, even more scars and a surprisingly delicate plane of unblemished skin behind his knees.

He squirmed a bit, but didn't otherwise object, himself content with caressing Helena's feet and ankles with long unhurried strokes.

“I thought a shared bath would be somewhat more thrilling.”

“I'm content with this,” Bane noted with a lazy smile.

The unhurried pace of their mutual touching and an all-surrounding warmth were intoxicating in their own respect.

“If you keep this up I will fall asleep,” Helena warned playfully, a half-truth.

“I'll carry you to bed then.”

She sighed in response, leaving his skin to grab onto the edges of the tub. “That will not do, dear Dr Dorrance. I have to change the sheets.”

He barked out a small laugh and let her come out, grinning as well over the astounding normalcy of the conversation.

It was so easy to fall into the routine of a couple, to give and take comfort freely as needed and requested, to be carefree. Almost as if they didn't fight and bleed with emotion only hours before. Almost as if no one was harmed less than two hours prior.

What did Bane mean, perhaps there were other reasons for Anna’s episode? What options were there? A poisoning?

A fuzzy and soft towel wrapped around her from the back, along with strong arms encircling her shoulders.

“You really need to grab some sleep.”

“Will you help me with the bedding?”

He hummed and kissed her neck.

For the next quarter of an hour Helena tried to forget the pang of worry that manifested after Bane’s words. As usual, she tangled the duvet cover, getting lost inside the expanse of white linen to add an insult to injury. Bane fished her out, but only after he finished tucking the sheet into a crisp, even plane over the mattress.

“How did you manage to put sheets on when I wasn't here?”

“I had other helpers.” She quipped spitefully, pouting.

The silence behind her was heavy with disappointment.

“I really wish you‘d stop reminding me of your numerous affairs.“

Bane's quiet voice sounded matter-of-factly at first glance, but she knew better.

“Why?”

He didn't look at her, pretending to focus on the sheets.

“Because there were so many of them.”

“Why does it bother you?”

“Why does it bother me?” The question was sharp, not shouted out, but delivered with such force lesser man would wince on impact. Helena saw it happening, knew the intent behind it. Remembered how it used to precede a palm nonchalantly splayed over a vulnerable plane of a throat…

She refocused and made herself smile.

“That is what I asked, yes.”

Helena didn't want to argue with Bane. But it showed how he tensed when she joked with Alex earlier in the day, how he circled her protectively when Sven whisked her away for a chat, how he kept on observing her, her interactions, through the ordeal of the brunch.

Wasn't he sure where she stood? Was he jealous? Disturbed with her promiscuity?

“I don't enjoy the thought of you enjoying other men.”

There it was.

“Ah, but darling you're looking at this the wrong way.” She stepped closer, taking the opportunity to gently pull the duvet out of his hands, carelessly throwing it to the bed. “No matter how many others there were before and after we first met, you are the one I chose.” She reached up to run her fingers gently down the back of his neck. “Even when you weren't close, even when the prospect of meeting you was non-existent, even when I remembered how much you hurt me and I hurt you… You remained the only one I want.“

“If you put it this way it doesn't sound half as bad.“

 

oOo

 

If it weren't for the memory of past day, Helena could have sworn everything was perfect in the world. The weather was still a bit chilly but sun shone brightly, warming up their little plot. Bane made breakfast and ushered her to work right after; commandeering with brash confidence on everything that needed to be done. Somehow the garden turned from her project into his. He researched the best places to put the herbs in, knew all requirements and argued with steady confidence over which plants would have to wait until it gets warmer to be put out in the open.

Helena took everything in stride, enjoying the alien sensation of for once working with Bane, instead of for him. He was an easy man to follow, charismatic even during the smallest tasks, effortlessly taking control of the situation.

They surveyed for the last time layout of the herb patch, the plants carefully arranged over spots they would soon be put into. Last minute adjustments were interrupted with Helena’s phone ringing in the cottage.

“I’ll see what it’s about,” she murmured, taking off her gloves on the way. Before she opened the door she heard Bane’s own mobile coming to life.

The news were grim. Grace called to say Anna had passed away an hour earlier, unable to wake from the coma she fell in last night. Already the mourning and funeral preparations were in motion, since Sven had no other family but his daughter. As Grace said, it was their duty as his friends to lift the weight of responsibility off his shoulders at a time like this. Helena nodded through, watching as Bane calmly conferred outside. He finished his first call and immediately dialled another. She absentmindedly agreed to everything Grace proposed, walking cautiously back to the terrace.

Bane was speaking with Tirill now.

How did he manage to have every phone number he needed?  

Before Helena arranged all necessities with Grace, Bane was already calling yet another person.

When they both finished, he looked at her with a pensive frown. His shoulders were straight, muscles taut with tension.

He probably could use a massage, she thought absentmindedly. Same treatment wouldn't hurt herself. But it was early and they had a full schedule, for now. With a sigh, she went back to the herbs, putting on her gloves.

“Let’s finish this.”

Bane nodded curtly and joined her. For a long while they worked in silence, digging holes, taking off the nursery pots, fiddling with positioning of each plant. Helena kept stealing quick glances Bane’s way, concerned over a determined wrinkle around his lips. He was plotting something.

Helena on the other hand felt oddly relieved. The woman who died was her friend, yet not a close one. She passed away swiftly, so the fact of her death registered only superficially in her mind. She knew, but didn't yet feel the burden death usually placed on the living.

Or perhaps, she mused, she was beyond caring?

“Do you know how a sculptor works, Helena?”

The question startled her, seemingly out of the blue, not linked to anything in particular. But it was Bane. He had to have a point.

“Enlighten me.”

“He studies his material before he picks up the chisel. He learns of its limitations and possibilities, traces veins in the stone, growth rings in the wood, bendiness of the metal alloys. Only then he reaches out to the very core and unveils his vision. To understand who sculpted the scene we saw at Easter, we need to understand who could imagine it, the situation it was created in.”

“You think Anna's attack was provoked on purpose?”

“Indeed.”

Despite the weight of the subject, Helena felt her lips stretching in a grin. She bit her lip to contain it at least a little.

“So you do want to be a sleuth, Monsieur Dorrance!”

“Helena,” he shook his head with a warning glance. “I can't stand the thought of someone close to you having this power. We need to know who did it. We need to see if the danger has passed. We need to know if it hit where intended or if perhaps the direction of the attack was somehow altered.”

The sombre tone deflated her amusement and she nodded, her head lowered a bit in passing shame. It was her friend who died, yet Bane was seemingly much more affected than she.

“We need to be prepared… For every possibility. Betrayal never comes from an enemy.”


End file.
